


Two Corporations

by jessicathebestica



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 00:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11302059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicathebestica/pseuds/jessicathebestica
Summary: Two corporations, both alike in wealth and esteem,In present day Philadelphia, where we lay our scene,From ancient grudge leads to product rivalry,Where disrespect makes propaganda unclean.From forth the fatal loins of these CEOsA pair of inheritors are charged with ending the fight;Whose allies cleverly plot and interpose,To, with this merger, finally make things right.The fretful passage of their fabricated love,In hopes to discontinue their fathers' rage,Which, but their children's union, scarcely could subdue,Is now the climactic discourse of thought to page;That which if you with patient eyes attend,What here shall miss, these characters shall strive to mend.





	1. Simple Linear Regression

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't supposed to happen. I have more important things to do (like other WIPs to finish) than to be obsessing over a fictional couple that I will never see get their happy ending. I guess writing this is just my way of dealing.
> 
> Anyway, I chose to go the modern AU route for this one, because I thought it would be interesting to see these families loathe each other in the corporate world. For the purpose of the story line, I made Benvolio and Rosaline take the place of Romeo and Juliet (those two don't exist in this version) as the son and daughter of Montague and Capulet, respectively. Hopefully it all makes sense as the story unfolds.

Like a bedtime story, Silvestro Capulet recounted to his daughters time and time again the tale of Montague Sr. and Pop-Pop Capulet.  They heard it so often they eventually knew the story by heart, which Rosaline felt inclined to share with anyone who would listen.

“Why would Old Man Montague do such a thing?” their childhood friend, Peter, had asked.  “Weren’t they like best friends or something?”

Rosaline shrugged in the midst of braiding her sister’s hair.  “I’m sure our grandfather thought that man _was_ his friend, but he finally saw him for who he really was.  It’s obvious that he was jealous of Pop-Pop’s clever flying disc invention, which is why he tried to steal it.  Luckily, Pop-Pop was able to patent and sell the idea before Old Man Montague could get his hands on it.”

But Livia did not wholeheartedly agree with her sister’s assessment.  “Let’s not forget that there are two sides to every story, Ros.”

“Of course,” Ros responded with an eyeroll, “a right side and a wrong side.  Don’t believe the heinous lies Balthasar and Abram spread about how the frisbee was actually Old Man Montague’s idea.  Besides, father would never lie to us.”

Livia sighed.  “I hope, for everyone’s sake, that you’re right.”

Of the sisters, Rosaline was two years older.  Livia had the good fortune of inheriting her grandmother’s sweet disposition and general impartiality toward hostile matters.  Rosaline, however, was very much like her father and his father before him—hot-headed and not easily persuaded by anything except her own bias.

After Grandfather Capulet sold his frisbee invention, he used those funds toward a start-up business manufacturing and selling domestic goods such as soap and household cleaners.  It was an easy market to get into and his start-up eventually expanded and became one of the most well-known consumer goods companies in Philadelphia.  Montague Sr. never gave up the fight though, using his connections to start a similar business of his own.  The two families have been at war ever since.

Inspired by her grandfather’s amazing feats, Rosaline followed in his footsteps by attending Columbia University.  She graduated Magna Cum Laude with an accounting degree which Pop-Pop was, tragically, unable to witness as he passed away the previous year.  Silvestro Capulet now manned the helm as CEO of Capulet, Inc. with Rosaline joining the payroll as the financial department’s accounting manager.  She was a wiz with numbers, but her ultimate endgame was to run the company when her father retired—or, at the very least, become Vice President of Marketing. 

All she needed was to complete her MBA and that dream was well within reach.  So, biding her time, Rosaline earned her keep by crunching numbers during the week and completing her business credits on the weekends at Wharton University.  Once she was given the power to make corporate rebranding decisions, she just knew that she could be instrumental in taking down Montague and Co. once and for all…

…so long as the company didn't flounder _before_ she was given that power.

On a blistery yet sunny morning in February, Silvestro Capulet was faced with a dilemma during the company’s monthly earnings report meeting.

“The numbers don’t lie, father,” Rosaline attested while placing a spreadsheet on his desk and passing out copies to everyone in attendance.  Only a handful of Capulet, Inc.’s financial and marketing officers were in attendance, and with the information being presented, the fewer people in the know the better.  “Our revenue is still in the green only because you have resorted to using personal funds to cover production costs.  Those resources will eventually deplete.  The fact of the matter is that we haven’t streamlined a new product in months.”

“I'm afraid Ms. Capulet is right,” Sampson voiced.  “If we don’t come up with an idea that’s innovative but can easily be marketed in the next three months, this company won’t stay afloat.”

Silvestro paced in front of the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk.  “Any suggestions?  Until innovation strikes, that is.”

“We could coerce one of Montague’s ideas men to switch sides.  He’s got so many people on his creative team, I’d hardly think he’d notice if one of them was gone.”

“No,” Silvestro said resolutely.  “There’s too much desperation in that.  He’ll know we’re out of options and I can’t let him get wind of this.”

“I have an idea,” Gregory chimed in, albeit hesitantly.  “A thought, really.  It’s not a fully developed idea yet and, honestly, boss, you may not like it.”

“I’ve been open to unconventional tactics before, Gregory.  Try me.”

The middle-aged projections analyst, who was relatively quiet but also damn good at his job, folded his hands across his lap as he carefully prepped his oration.  “Anyone in this industry knows that you always choose quality over quantity.  You put more money into production than marketing or advertising which is why the east coast region still favors Capulet, Inc. products over any other company.  Conversely, Montague has the clout—the connections and ventures that keep his consumer goods current, widespread and affordable.”

“Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious,” Silvestro remarked, pinching the bridge of his nose to relieve the pressure that had been building since the meeting began.

Gregory recoiled a bit before finally getting to his point.  “Your companies have always operated as opposing halves of a coin.  Therefore, it seems financially and economically prudent if, instead of being bitter rivals, you both considered something a bit more harmonious…such as negotiating a potential…merger.”

Everyone in the room was stunned into silence before all hell broke loose, analysts and managers alike simultaneously erupting in outrage.

“Gregory, have you lost your mind?!”

“How is that a solution to anything?!”

“I think I speak for all of us when I say that this company will never be in league with those Montague scum!”

Through all this, Silvestro had yet to breath a word on the matter, removing himself from the chaos as he stared out at the skyscrapers that surrounded them.  To the left housed Montague’s company, a tall, imposing reminder of the obstacle that was always in front of him.  He waited for everyone to settle down before speaking.  “Your suggestion insults me, Gregory, and I’m sure you already know that I have fired men for far less.”  It was so quiet now that you could almost hear a pin drop, all occupants of the intimate meeting eagerly awaiting whether Capulet would make good on his threat.  “Rosaline, my dear, what do _you_ think our next course of action should be?”

That was a first.  Though Rosaline’s current position did not yet qualify her to make legitimate business proposals, it didn’t mean she hadn’t already drawn them up in preparation of today’s meeting.  Call it wishful thinking.  She pulled out a portfolio from her briefcase and handed it to her father.  “For now, I suggest temporary layoffs and salary cuts, particularly in the manufacturing department.  There will be backlash but at least it will give us another month or two to potentially wrangle in new clients and investors.”

Silvestro quickly flipped through the pages of Rosaline’s proposal, hardly glancing at the tables and graphs (that she only spent hours creating last night, but that’s fine).  “Very well.  Sampson, generate a list: reduce our manufacturing salary cap by 30% and make the necessary cuts by the first of April.  Gregory, to make up for your previous insolence, you get the unfortunate task of notifying these individuals of their newly unemployed status—if, of course, you wish to not be among them.”

“Yes, sir,” he responded meekly, bowing his head in shame.

It was a strange feeling, this newfound power Rosaline’s father had given her.  On the one hand, she felt gratified at seeing her ideas finally become actualized.  On the other, guilt was hot on her trail, biding its time until the reality of this situation hit her like a ton of bricks.  _Thirty percent_.  Thirty percent was a lot—and if anyone was going to point fingers, they would probably be aimed at her.  If innovation was going to strike, now was definitely the time.

 

 

Rosaline was eager to meet up with her sister and her sister’s boyfriend, Paris, for lunch at Café Verona, a coffee and sandwich shop just down the street.  Spending time with Livia was just what she needed to reinvigorate her spirits and she hoped that the ‘exciting news’ her sister wanted to share would be enough of a distraction.

“We’re engaged!” Livia exclaimed jubilantly, flashing the back of her hand, a rather blinding rock now nestled around her ring finger.  Rosaline tilted her head to get a closer look at the ring without the intrusion of the sun’s glare.  It looked like a princess cut diamond, approximately three carats in weight with side stones encrusting a white gold band.  Or so Rosaline assumed, because obviously there were more important things to focus on than obsessing over which engagement ring she hoped her boyfriend, Escalus, would eventually buy her.

She looked between the couple, both with eager and expectant faces as they awaited her reaction.  “The ring is…it’s very shiny.”  They waited further still.  “I’m sorry, but am I supposed to be surprised by this news?  You two have been practically inseparable since she became your Florence Nightingale after your football injury in high school.  Was it wrong of me to assume that you’d eventually get married and live out the American Dream with your 2.5 children in a house with a white picket fence?”

“Gee, Ros,” Livia said, deflated and visibly disappointed by Rosaline’s response.  “You make it sound so unromantic.”

Paris also chimed in, suddenly looking a little green around the edges.  “A bit of a Stepford Wives vibe, too.”

_Gee, Ros_ was right.  As if the day wasn’t distressing enough, now she had to go and hurt her sister’s feelings—on what was supposed to be one of the happiest days of her life.  “No, I’m sorry.  I’m over the moon for you both, really.  I only meant that it was obvious from the start that you two were destined to spend the rest of your lives together.  I envy that, actually.  So, let’s rewind.  Paris, don’t spare any details on how you proposed.”

Only he didn’t reveal any details—not right away, at least—because, at that exact moment, Damiano Montague’s only son and heir caught their collective attention as he walked through the front doors of the café, arm-in-arm with an unfamilar blonde in a sundress.

Rosaline gave the man a quick once over before deciding that having it out with him was simply not worth the incumbent headache.

Benvolio Montague either didn’t get that memo or simply didn’t care.

“If it isn’t our dearest friends, the Capulets,” he said, pushing his Ray Bans up to rest atop his head so he could get a better look at everyone.  “Oh, and Paris, of course.  I don’t wish to wrongfully lump you into _that_ family name—”  He peered down at the ring on Livia’s finger.  “Although, I may have spoken too soon.  Are my congratulations in order?”

All three of them looked between each other, Livia taking special care to nonverbally communicate to Ros _not_ to make a scene.  She then respectfully answered his question.  “No official announcement has been made yet but, yes, Paris and I are going to be married.”

Benvolio then took it upon himself to occupy the open seat next to Rosaline, further establishing himself as a member of this conversation—much to her chagrin.  “Well, mazel tov to you both!  Though I personally find marriage to be a source of profound commiseration, I’m sure neither of you feel the same.  And between the Capulet women, Paris, you’ve certainly made the right choice.  Livia is not only beautiful but I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say a negative word about her.  And then we have Rosaline here—”  He turned to face her and she could practically feel his breath against her cheek.  “You see, on the surface it appears that she wishes to be Switzerland today, but on the inside she’s no doubt gritting her teeth and plotting between which item on this table might cause me the most physical damage.”

Rosaline attempted to relax her jaw, unwilling to give this Montague trash the satisfaction of winning this round.  Her chair screeched against the linoleum floor as she widened their proximity before looking up to finally match his gaze.

“I’m sure my sister appreciates such high praise,” she said through a tight-lipped smile, “especially from the likes of you.  It was so great catching up, but I should finish eating my lunch before I get back to work.  You do know what that is, right?  It’s where you have a job and actually earn your keep instead of borrowing daddy’s money so you can appropriately compensate your prostitutes.”

The pretty, young blonde, hovering a few feet away, assumed this was a dig at her and wasted no time in acting affronted.  In truth, Rosaline had no real qualms with this woman.  She just had the misfortune of associating with the lecherous Montague spawn.

His self-satisfied smirk vanished.  “Nice try, Capulet, but I’ll have you know that Britney here—”

“Stella.”

“Stella here,” he corrected, “is currently at U Penn studying Computer Science.”

Rosaline pretended to be vaguely impressed as Stella further amended his statement.  “It’s actually Communications but I can see how you mixed it up since they kind of sound similar.”

“Communications,” Rosaline repeated, now addressing Stella directly. “Let me guess: Channel 7 news anchor?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”  The young woman had somehow forgotten that Rosaline insulted her mere moments ago.  “I mean, it doesn’t have to be Channel 7.  I’m totally willing to branch out to other networks.  Gosh, you’re like really clever.  Isn’t she clever, Benny?”

_Benny?  Seriously?_   She wasn’t going to let him live that one down anytime soon.

“She certainly thinks she is.”  Benvolio finally seceded and removed himself from the chair.  “I suppose this is where I leave you.  Livia, Paris, congratulations again and I do hope that the bad blood between our families doesn’t prevent you from inviting me to the wedding.  I’m told I have excellent taste in gift giving.”

Stella rushed to his side to speak to him in hushed tones, though it was still loud enough for them all to hear.  “We’re leaving?  But what about the lettuce wrap?  I don’t think I can hold out till we get to the Hamptons.”

“Sorry, Stella, but I seemed to have lost my appetite.  We’ll stop somewhere else along the way.”  His attentions returned to Rosaline.  “Ms. Capulet—stimulating, as always.”

The moment they exited the café, Ros seemed to let out a breath that she didn’t even know she was holding.  “Ugh.  I loathe him.”

“Benvolio Montague is not my favorite person either," Livia said, using her sisterly intuition to deduce that there was another reason for Rosaline's acrimony, "but it isn’t wise to provoke him, especially when you already seem so troubled.  What’s really going on, Ros?”

Apart from being a mind reader, Livia was also uncannily skilled at being empathetic; prompting Rosaline to frequently unburden herself to her.  And that was precisely what she did now, relating every detail of this morning’s meeting from the ridiculous notion of a Capulet-Montague merger to the final decision to lay off workers.

“I’ve been so focused on climbing through the ranks within the company,” she said, head in her hands and a faraway look on her eyes, “that I didn’t stop to think about how difficult it would be to make decisions when other people’s livelihood hang in the balance.”

Livia reached out, willing her sister to take hold of her hand to draw comfort and strength there.  “It’s like what father used to say to us: with great opportunities come specific obligations.  You would think he would heed his own words on occasion and put an end to this corporate feud nonsense.  It really does more damage than good.”

Rosaline laughed.  “Perhaps we should give Gregory’s merger idea more consideration.”  Remembering that they were not alone, she soberly turned to Paris.  “This probably goes without saying, but seeing as you are now privy to highly classified information, I trust you can be discreet.”

“Mums the word,” Paris swiftly replied, mimicking the act of locking up his mouth and throwing away the key.

In all honestly, Rosaline should’ve known this would not be the end of it.


	2. Mergers and Acquisitions

Having the weekend to mull things over did little to pacify the burdens Rosaline carried.  Sampson had already begun shaving off 30% of the company’s manufacturing income and still no miraculous epiphany materialized on how to generate more revenue.

Until…

“Cancel the layoffs,” a voice bellowed from her office door in place of a greeting.  She knew immediately who it was, but the command was so startling that Ros was forced to look up, requiring physical confirmation of her sister's unexpected presence.  

“Liv, what are you doing here?”  She lowered her voice.  “And don’t just go around shouting layoffs like that.  That intel is highly classified!”

Livia rushed to Rosaline’s side, placing her hands on either side of the swivel chair.  “You’ve never taken issue with trusting me before, so I’m relying on your continued faith to trust me again.  Paris and I came up with a rather brilliant plan that’ll hopefully prevent anyone from losing their job here.  So, cancel the layoffs, take an extended lunchbreak, and meet me at The Verona in an hour.”

“I realize that your knowledge of big business is from movies like _Trading Places_ and _The Secret of My Success_ ,” Ros said, cupping her sister’s cheek as if she was a small, innocent child, “but I think it’s time you found out that movies aren’t real.  I can’t just magically make a call and be done with it.  I don’t even have the authority to make that decision!  However, the L-word”—she used air quotes to emphasize her discretion—“won’t take place until late March, so there’s still time to re-strategize before it becomes absolutely necessary.  I’ll meet you for lunch…just knock it off with the theatrics, okay?”

 

Sitting at the same table in The Verona Café an hour later gave Rosaline a strange sense of déjà vu—although, at the time, she didn’t realize how much.  They ordered food first, not wanting to talk business on an empty stomach.

“So, what’s this _brilliant_ plan of yours?” she finally asked in between bites of her Cobb salad.

Paris and Livia briefly glanced at one another, apprehension clearly etched on their faces, before Paris launched into their proposal.  “You may or may not have read in the papers that Isabella Cosimo is looking to dabble in some new venture capital opportunities.”

Anyone who’s anyone knew this.  It was even something Ros briefly deliberated, before ultimately concluding that it would never pan out.  “I am aware, but Isabella is a high-stakes investor.  She may be Escalus’ half-sister, but our association doesn’t undermine the fact that Capulet, Inc. is a bit too small for her consideration.”

“What you need,” Paris said, adding to her line of thinking, “is to branch out to global markets.  Isabella likes companies that have production facilities in locales like Italy and Japan because it gives her a reason to travel.”

Not that this plan was showing much potential from the start, but now he had officially lost her.  “Liv, I know your fiancé would never intentionally pour salt on a gaping wound, but need I remind you both that Montague and Co. has the global investors, not us?  I mean, sure, our east coast commercial product sales beat theirs by a landslide, but—”

“Exactly!” Paris interposed, noticing the bored look on Rosaline’s face and determined to fix it.  “Capulet, Inc. has the superior products while Montague and Co. has the foreign connections.”

She punctured a cherry tomato with her fork absentmindedly.  “So, I assume you have a plan to help us gain access to those foreign markets?”

“I’m getting a strong sense of déjà vu here.”

Rosaline barely had time to react to the intrusion before said intrusion took it upon himself to settle into the seat next to her, just as before.  “Oh, come on!  Are you really that thick?  Can you not take a hint?  You—are—not—wel—come—here!”

A bit out of character, Benvolio chose not to respond with a clever quip, instead smiling at her like the Cheshire cat he was.

“Actually, Ros,” Livia intervened, “I invited him.”

That took an unexpected turn.

“What you do mean you ‘invited’ him?  You know I don’t like being out of the loop, Liv, so just cut to the chase.”

Ben raised his hand.  “I second that notion.  I'm taking a big risk as it is, conferring in broad daylight with not one but two Capulets.”

“You said it yourself, Ros,” Paris asserted, once again taking the lead.  “Your father’s company needs access to foreign markets in order to obtain someone like Isabella as an investor.  Well, here are your foreign markets.”  He gestured to Benvolio.

“No, he’s our competition!”

Paris’ gaze shifted to Ben and then Livia before finally returning to Ros.  “Not if you reconsider a merger.”

As business lunches go, this was certainly the first to make Rosaline laugh outright—actually, snort would be a more appropriate word for the sound she made.  “Seriously?  That’s your brilliant idea?  I told you Gregory’s suggestion because of how ridiculous it was, not because it could be a viable option.  That would never in a million years happen.”

After piecing bits of their dialogue together, Benvolio shared his own thoughts on the matter.  “If you’re advocating a merger between Capulet, Inc and Montague and Co., then I’m going to have to break precedent and agree with Rosaline here— _never in a million years_.”

“Listen,” Livia said, her characteristic wholesomeness deviating with every bit of resistance they were met with, “This only seems far-fetched because our fathers are too arrogant to, pardon my French, get their heads out of their asses and let an old grudge die!”

“Livia,” Rosaline softly scolded, more from shock than anything else.

But Livia continued.  “Well, it’s true.  This frisbee debacle happened a long time ago and the only people who knew the truth are, I hate to say this, dead and gone.  Now is the time to look to the future.  Bottom line, Capulet, Inc and Montague and Co. both have strengths and weaknesses that complement each other.  Fusing the two together could extend your market reach, open the door to more influential investors and, who knows, it may one day place you on par with the likes of Proctor & Gamble.”

 _A horizontal merger._   Crazier things have happened.  Sirius XM has revenue in the billions because of their merger and Exxon Mobil is still ranked the seventh largest publicly traded company by marketing capitalization.  Mergers definitely have potential—with the exception of Daimler Chrysler, of course, but no business ventures have a  guaranteed100% success rate.

Rosaline really wanted to disregard the wheels currently turning in her head, but it was bizarre how effortless it was to envision their joined success.  A lot of company time and energy had already been wasted on smear tactics alone, so it would be nice to use that time to focus on other things—like commercial products in Japan, and home solutions in Brazil and, okay, P&G status would be kind of incredible. 

She nearly forgot Ben was there until he opened his big, dumb mouth again.  “I’m surprised at you, Livia.  I thought you were the sensible Capulet—you know, the only one who kept her hands clean of the biz.”

Livia shrugged.  “It’s amazing how much information one can find on the internet.  And, no, just because I’m highly invested in this plan does not mean I’m quitting my day job.”

“What is that again?  High school nurse?”

“Middle school,” Livia replied, “but I’ll have you know that it’s very rewarding work—minus the vomit and urine you encounter on occasion.”

She lost Ben at ‘vomit’ which was when he redirected them back to the previous matter.  “Though I like where your head is at, there are a few kinks in this plan.  For starters, what’s all this got to do with me?  It may be my father’s wish to have me run the company someday, but that doesn’t mean I‘m really of value now.  I have virtually no sway in his decisions.”

“You heard it straight from the horse’s mouth, folks,” Rosaline remarked, unable to help herself.

Ignoring her quip, Paris and Livia nervously glanced at each other for what felt like the tenth time that afternoon.  “Well,” Paris then said, scratching the back of his neck, “the merger is only Part B of this plan.  We knew that it wasn’t going to be easy getting both of your fathers to agree to this decision, which is where your involvement comes in.”

“And how exactly do I do that?” Ben asked, clearly amused at this stage of the game and eager to have fun with it.  “Do I get to hop off the bad blood train first by declaring my love for all the Capulets?”

Livia bit her lip—“Not all…we were thinking just one.”—and then looked straight at her sister.

Now, perhaps what Livia was suggesting was so unbelievably preposterous that it simply didn’t register with Rosaline right away.

Benvolio, however, was quick to catch on.  “Me?  With _her_?”  He yanked his thumb in Rosaline’s direction, and as the light bulb suddenly appeared above her head, a torrent of very adamant objections flowed freely between the pair of them.

“Of all the idiotic things…”

“Absolutely not!  No way!”

“I mean, you’ve seen the way she treats me, right?”

“…and unless he was the last man on Earth…”

“No one would even believe it!  That cocktail party fiasco of 2014 is still referenced in the tabloids, which goes to show that….”

“Strike that—not _even_ if he was the last man on Earth.  Honestly…”

“It’s never going to work!” they both shouted in unison.  After a startled glance at one other, Ben and Ros promptly shut up.

Livia used the awkward silence to contest their objections.  “Now, obviously we are talking about a fake relationship, as it is quite clear how you two feel about one another—it’s pretty much impossible to forget the cocktail party fiasco of 2014.  I know this sounds crazy, but I guess I just figured the only thing that could trump hate is love, so if our fathers could temporarily put aside their differences for the newfound love of their children, then maybe they could hold a rational discussion about a merger and see how truly beneficial it would be for all parties.”

All parties?  Sure the idea of a business merger was starting to sound nice, but was it really worth the time she would be forced to spend with the man sitting next to her?  The fifteen minutes he had been here was already long enough.

Ros let out a frustrated sigh.  “I’m sorry, but this is just ridiculous!  I don’t even know why I bother arguing about it anymore because, regardless of our mutual hostilities towards this actually working, _I_ am already in a committed, long-term relationship and he is certainly _not_ going to be okay with this.”

Later that night, Rosaline relayed the entire exchange to Escalus.

“Actually, I think it’s kind of genius.”

Not quite the reaction she was hoping for.  “I’m sorry?”

“Well, think about it,” he said, opening a bottle of red wine for an after-dinner nightcap, “your father and Montague are way past mediating when it comes to settling their differences, which means any chance of peace would have to involve more drastic measures.  It has the potential to create a lucrative business opportunity for both of your companies, but, not only that, dissolving the feud would mean a hell of a lot less paperwork for me.”

Escalus was the Deputy Commissioner for the Philadelphia Police Department and undoubtedly saw his fair share of criminal cases over the years involving both Capulet, Inc. and Montague and Co. employees.  Their rivalry was one of the most notoriously known in this city and Rosaline could easily understand that anyone stuck in the middle of it would soon grow tired of constantly being on damage control.

But to agree to _this_?

“You do realize that it would mean we’d have to break up,” she retorted, refusing the proffered glass of wine in his outstretched hand.  Rosaline rarely turned down a Sangiovese with a decent vintage, but she also rarely drank on an angry stomach.  “If you really want me to do this, then we can’t be seen together or much less talk to one another except as indifferent acquaintances.”

This was hardly given much consideration before he came back with his own rebuttal.  “It would only be temporary, of course.  As soon as the merger is settled you can break it off with him and we can be together again.  I’ll wait for you, Rosaline.”

It was almost romantic, the notion of Escalus waiting for her—if this situation wasn’t so fucked up.  “Temporary, sure, but I can see this easily taking three months to execute.  Three months is a long time to ask someone to wait.”

“Philadelphia is ready for a change,” he replied, setting down his glass and reaching for her hands across the table.  “A Capulet-Montague union is just what we need to breathe life into this city once more.  And with my sister’s capital leading the charge, it could do wonders for the economy.  I know that this is not an ideal situation, but if you and the Montague can put aside your personal grievances to potentially do a lot of good for a lot of people, then it’ll be worth the wait.

“However,” he continued, switching from being romantic to strategic, “in order to successfully pull this off, everything must be planned to a T.  You’ll need to make sure your families know we’re no longer together before you introduce Benvolio as your boyfriend, otherwise that could turn into a scandal of its own.  Oh, and establish a little history first: take some photos together, exchange a few texts and maybe show up at a restaurant or bar, but be discreet.  Pretend like you don’t want everyone to know about your new romance just yet.”

Rosaline looked at Escalus in that deadpan sort of way that she was fairly sure was a family trait.  “Did you suddenly forget that you’re an officer of the law?  I mean, is this even legal?  At the very least it’s immoral and, not to mention, damn near impossible to pull off considering I would rather chop off his hand than hold it.”

“Well, as an officer of the law, I should really advise you not to dismember the only son of your father’s rival company.  All joking aside, Ros, a plan of this magnitude was never going to be easy, but sometimes it’s the challenges in life that produce the best rewards, right?”

_With great opportunities come specific obligations._

Arms still outstretched, Rosaline drew in a long breath before allowing her head to plop onto the table.  “I’ll take that wine now,” she said, her voice muffled by the glass surface.

 

 

Two weeks later…

Rosaline was immensely proud to have inherited her father’s work ethic, always putting in 110% to achieve the greatest outcome.  However, this new situation with Benvolio Montague had instilled in her a new ethic—bare minimum effort.  She did just as Escalus suggested to establish their fake relationship, but made sure to do so on her own terms.  Texts were exchanged, but she borrowed Ben’s phone and sent them all herself.  Photos were taken, though most of them were merely selfies that she had a friend digitally superimpose Ben into.

Then came the dreaded dinner date.

Livia found them a quaint and dimly lit Italian restaurant, perfect for a couple having a secret rendezvous.  If they were spotted and recognized before either of them had the chance to tell their fathers of their ‘blossoming romance’, it might make it all the more believable.

“It probably goes without saying,” Ben said after the hostess seated them at the corner booth, “but you clean up nice, Capulet.”

Not by choice, of course.  Livia picked out the dress, insisting that blue was _her_ color. 

Rosaline put on her artificial mask, smiling sweetly at Ben.  “You’re right.  It does go without saying.  In fact, I wish you hadn’t said it, seeing as compliments from you are probably recycled so much you hardly mean them anymore.”

He tried to remain undaunted by her insult.  “If that is the case, I guess that skill will come in handy as we attempt to make everyone believe that we’re hopelessly in love for the next few months—or years if it proves more difficult to seal the deal than we thought.”

“That won’t happen,” she said, fighting everything in her not to roll her eyes.  It didn’t help that his body was nearly pressed against hers, no doubt attempting to make their torrid love affair seem more convincing.  Still practicing that whole ‘bare minimum’ concept, she leaned out of his immediate reach.  “Besides, the merger has a deadline if we’re going to snag Isabella’s investment before other companies do.”

"That’s enough business talk for now.”  He picked up her hand and started caressing her palm with his thumb.  When she instinctively flinched he arched one of his brows, a warning for her to play the game if they were going to see this through.  “We should probably attempt to get to know each other better, in case we're grilled by someone who doesn’t believe our love is authentic.  Let’s start with the basics, shall we?  Favorite color?  Food?  Animal?”

Rosaline slid her hand from Ben’s grip on the pretense of wanting a sip of water—she had another hand for that, but still.  “You know, I never understood the context of that question being asked.  What does favorite color even mean?  Are we talking favorite color to wear or a color that incites the most positive emotions?”

“Just answer the damn questions.”

Well, then.  Someone was getting testy.  She had to admit that she found it easier to tolerate him when he was losing his patience with her than when he was being egotistically flirty.  “Fine.  Lilac, risotto, and koalas, I suppose.  But do you really think someone’s going to ask you what my favorite animal is?”

Ben scrunched up his nose.  “Probably not.”  His face then relaxed as his signature smirk reappeared.  “But now I know what animal charm to put on the 14K gold bracelet I’ll give you for our one month anniversary.”

And just like that the arrogant moron was back.

When the waiter thankfully arrived, they ordered a bottle of merlot for the table—there was, after all, no way Ros was suffering through this night sober.  After a few tastings, she settled on the 1999 Emmolo from Napa (Ben said he would drink anything and she was morbidly curious to see if that was true).

“Alright, now it’s your turn,” she said, taking a modest sip once their waiter departed.  “Let’s see, since your questions were pathetically mundane, how about favorite vacation spot, hobby, and childhood memory.”

Ben tasted the tannin-heavy wine, winced, then gulped it all down before refilling his glass.  Clearly she wasn’t the only one who needed some liquid reinforcements tonight.  “Well,” he started, drawing it out as he pondered over his potential answers, “I’m known to frequent the Hamptons but my all-time favorite destination has to be Australia.  Snorkeling in the Great Barrier Reef was an out-of-this-world experience and I’d love to go back there.  Childhood memory…probably when my parents renewed their vows on their 10th wedding anniversary.  And hobby?  Well, you already assume I pick up women as a hobby so let’s just stick with that.”

“Nice try, but that doesn’t count.  Name a real hobby.”

He pretended to be engrossed in the menu though she was fairly certain he already knew what he was ordering.  “New question.”

An unexpected response, and a vaguely interesting one at that.  “I don’t understand.  Why won’t you tell me your favorite hobby?”

“I have the right to plead the fifth, yes?”

“We’re not in court,” she countered, now fully immersed in this conversation and determined to dig up whatever demons he was hellbent on hiding.  “Do you realize how strange it sounds when you openly share a personal childhood memory but you won’t tell me what you like to do in your free time?”

Ben took another reluctant sip.  “I wonder if I should’ve told you that I’m not fond of red wines before I let you order.”  Redirection techniques didn’t work on her, so she continued to stare him down incredulously.  “Look, no offense, but we’re nowhere near that level of trust yet and what I do on my own time is none of your business.  Besides, if I told you I might have to kill you, which would really put a damper on this whole merger thing, don’t you think?”

“When—and I do stress when—I find out your secret, you better be some government spy and not doing something lame like sailing or coin collecting.”

Their waiter chose that moment to reappear.  “Are we starting with any appetizers tonight?”

“Actually,” Ben said, clearly relieved to exit their previous conversation, “I think we’re ready to order.  I’ll have the mussels with linguine and the lady here will have the mushroom risotto.”  He turned to Rosaline and winked.

Not wanting to have it out with him in front of a stranger, she waited until their waiter left to speak her peace.  “You know, there are a small handful of things I detest more than when a man orders food for me.  It’s presumptive and invasive and, seeing as I am much more suited for adulthood than you are, I am perfectly capable of ordering for myself.”

Ben’s busy eyebrows knitted together.  “Were you not going to order the risotto?”

Rosaline’s mouth opened and closed like a fish as she considered how best to validate her reasoning.  “That is not the point.  The point is that I am—”

“The point,” he interjected with a confidently crooked smile, “is that we’ve only been a public couple for, what, twenty minutes and I’m already ordering your favorite dish for you.  I don’t know about you, but I feel some serious chemistry vibes between us, Capulet.  Or should I start calling you Ros now?”

Keeping a cool front, she dug her nails into her palms to relieve some of her building anger.  “Rosaline is fine.”

Ben tapped his chin in contemplation.  “That sounds so impersonal.  How about something romantic like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘my beloved’?  Ooh, that one has a nice ring to it.  Don’t you think, my beloved?”

Her wine glass was near empty.  Ignoring his cheeky antics, she topped her glass off with what was left in the bottle and signaled for the waiter to bring them another.

 


	3. Guerrilla Marketing

As predicted, the local paper received a tip about Rosaline and Benvolio’s dinner date and published it the next day on the bottom of page four with the headline “Star-Crossed Love Affair on the Horizon”.

They agreed that facing their fathers separately would prevent any spontaneous physical altercations from occurring—though, truth be told, both aging CEOs would’ve likely been winded before any real damage was caused.

And it wasn’t just her father she had to face.

Rosaline’s mother was a fiercely independent and strong-willed woman, which were certainly admirable traits for both of her daughters to look up to; but if you had the misfortune of not being on her good side, she was more frightening than Silvestro and Damiano combined.

Though Rosaline still hadn’t changed her very decided opinion of Benvolio, she wasn’t cruel enough to yet inflict upon him the wrath of Giuliana Capulet.

“This article afflicts me for two reasons,” her mother said calmly…though how much longer she would remain calm was unknown.  Giuliana sat perched on a chair in the drawing room as Silvestro paced in front of the fireplace.  It was a habit of his, pacing, whenever life’s stressors got the better of him.  Rosaline stood in the middle of the room, feeling exposed as she awaited her judgment.  “The obvious one involves your interaction with a Montague, of all people, but we will address that grievance later.”

“Mother, I can explain—”

Giuliana made a motion to silence her daughter, a tactic she had been using since Rosaline was small.  “However, the more pressing affliction is the fact that you were seen at all.  Rosaline, you are not only a member of one of Philadelphia’s most prolific families but you are also an employee of this company—which I know you aspire to rise within.  As such, you must remember your duty and know that someone is always watching and waiting for you to screw up and embarrass us all.”

Silvestro halted mid-step.  “Forgive me, my darling wife, but it sounds as if you are less upset by her actions than the fact that she was caught.”

“Rosaline is 24,” Giuliana replied, giving her husband an incredulous look.  “She no longer lives under this roof and by that right she is free to do whatever she damn well pleases—even if that includes cavorting with a womanizing mongrel like Damiano’s son—but flaunting those misdeeds in a public restaurant could have a serious impact on this company.  Negative press attention is surely the last thing we need considering the already abysmal state of last year’s earnings.”

Silvestro and Rosaline exchanged a guarded look.

“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” Giuliana said in response.  “Did you honestly think you could keep this from me?  I have eyes and ears everywhere.  I knew about the potential layoffs almost as soon as the decision was made.”

Rosaline’s father sighed wearily, gripping the mantle for support.  “I can very well agree to the importance of maintaining a strong public image, but, as your father, Rosaline, I worry about you.  The Montagues have never once shown kindness to us, which is why it is extraordinarily dangerous for you to be running around cavorting with—”

“For heaven’s sake!  Ben and I were not ‘cavorting’.  We were seen having dinner.  Who even uses that word anymore, honestly?”

“This boy has a reputation,” Giuliana chimed in, rising from her chair.  “Half of the women in the city can attest to that.  Having a fling with your father’s enemy’s son could not only create more tension but it could also ruin any chance of a fine man like Escalus taking you back.”

As overbearing as her mother had been, well, her entire life, Rosaline was the type of girl who rarely found cause to lie to her parents.  When she was eight, she claimed that their cat, Tybalt, broke the vase in the foyer but in reality she had been dancing and lost her footing.  When she was 14, the family stylist cut her mother’s hair entirely too short.  To prevent a bloodcurdling meltdown, Rosaline not only said that she looked beautiful but that it made her look ten years younger.

There was also that incident at her first party at Columbia University, but seeing as everyone else was eager to forget it ever happened, the lie she told her parents about playing foosball for an hour and then leaving became her truth as well.

All these memories of past falsehoods resurfaced as she prepared to tell her parents the most difficult one of all.  “As I have already told you, Mother,” Ros started, her hands tight fists at her sides to prevent them from shaking, “Escalus and I amicably separated because our lives were no longer on the same path.  I ran into Benvolio shortly after and we got to talking and that’s how dinner happened.  I didn’t plan on any of this, but after our brief encounters, I’ve come to realize that what Ben and I have is not a ‘fling’—it’s something else entirely.”

Okay, so that wasn’t too difficult.  She chose her words carefully so that, in certain lights, what she said could hardly be construed as a lie.  What her and Ben had _was_ ‘something else’ indeed.  No reason to throw around artificial words like love yet.

Her parents were momentarily struck dumb.  Seeing as they were unable to come up with a response for their daughter, Rosaline pressed on—though, this was the part she dreaded most.  “I know you think it’s a mistake, but I’m not breaking up with Ben unless he or I or both of us find a reason to no longer see each other.  We don’t want to be a part of your feud anymore, and if you don’t accept this I can…I can give you my two weeks’ notice.”

It was naturally expected for her mother to reply first.  “Your father and I understand that this was not an easy choice for you to make, but if you would rather throw your life away for an unknown future with Montague’s son, then cutting ties with the company is probably for the best.”

Rosaline’s heart plummeted in her stomach.  She was really starting to hate this plan, especially seeing as it backfired so quickly.  Her parents should’ve known her better, that she would never choose a guy over her family’s business—not even Escalus.  As soon as this conversation ended, she needed to contact the others to regroup and finagle a way out of this mess.

“No,” her father boasted forcefully, shattering the bleak silence.  “No, I will not accept your resignation so long as you still wish to do right by what your grandfather started.”

“I do, father,” Ros replied, eyes glistening as she tried to contain how overjoyed she was to hear his answer.  Liv was right.  Father always came through in the end.

Silvestro straightened himself up, purposefully ignoring his wife’s pointed stare.  “Then it is settled.  You will remain Capulet, Inc.’s Accounting Manager and when you’ve completed your MBA in May, we will discuss your potential for a promotion.  In the meantime, I’ll have to meet this Benvolio character in a more informal setting, as I do with all of my daughter’s significant others.  Can you bring him round for dinner tomorrow night at 7pm?”

Rosaline stuttered out her reply.  “I’ll see if he’s free.”

And just like that, phase one was complete.

Well, not quite.

After sharing the news with Ben, she discovered that _his_ father also insisted on arranging a dinner meeting for Sunday night.  Neither would budge.  Rosaline was determined, however, and eventually got both heads of household to meet for dinner at her apartment.  Things were advancing rather nicely now.

Benvolio made sure to arrive first so that they could greet their guests together.  For as little effort as he put into his father’s company, he was certainly invested in this dating scheme.  Rosaline wondered if it was because he had realized the benefits of this merger or simply because he lacked other amusements at present.  Odds were high it was the latter.

The newlyweds arrived after him.  Livia and Paris’ attendance wasn’t required, but Ros thought it was safe to bring along a buffer since this would undoubtedly be the most awkward dinner party she ever hosted.  She wondered, however, how good of a buffer they would be considering how eager they were to watch tonight’s encounter unfold.

Her parents showed up next, followed shortly by Damiano.  They did not shake hands.  At best, a curt nod of acknowledgment was shared between them, which was a wonderful indication (insert sarcasm here) of how the rest of the night would likely play out.

Rosaline waited until everyone had taken their seats before attempting to drum up a dialogue.  “I hear it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.”

“Oh good,” her mother drawled sardonically, helping herself to the white wine decanter.  “we’ve reduced ourselves to mindless small talk.”

Those admirable qualities of strength and independence Giuliana possessed were gone now.  In its place was her crippling inability to handle stressful situations without some form of liquid courage. Over the years, Ros and Liv had learned that when their mother got like this it was best not to react to it and go on as if everything was perfectly fine.  Her father had usually done the same, but with his mortal enemy sitting across from him, who knew how long he would put up with her rantings before he cracked.

Ben leaned into Rosaline’s side so as not to be overheard by their guests.  “Is your mom already drunk?”

“There’s a good chance of that, yes,” she responded, not as hushed but vague enough to not draw attention to it.  She then addressed everyone at the table again.  “I hope everyone likes duck.  I had it catered from Laurel’s by special request.”

“It looks amazing, Ros,” Liv finally said once she realized that their father and Mr. Montague still found no reason to talk, their mother nose deep in her glass of wine.  “The crystal centerpiece is quite beautiful, too.”

Their mother then let out a long, mournful sigh and surprised everyone in attendance by speaking to Damiano directly.  “I hope, Montague, that you are grateful to have a son who understands that an awkward conversation cannot easily be cured by prattling on about nothing—unlike my girls here.”

He gave the woman an inquisitive look, probably deciphering by now that this was not her first glass of wine for the evening.  She reached for the decanter once more, but her husband had faster reflexes, moving the wine to the other side of the table.

Rosaline’s self-contained mantra of not reacting to her mother in public had finally hit its breaking point.  “What do you suggest we talk about, mother?  We can’t discuss work, seeing as that would be a huge conflict of interest.  Perhaps we can talk about Liv’s work instead.  Should we ask her how many kids threw up on her this week?”

“Three,” Liv responded dispiritedly, even though she was fairly certain no one really wanted to know the answer to that question.

“Or how about we just get down to brass tax,” Ros continued, still holding her mother’s unsteady gaze, “and get to the heart of why we’re all here tonight: Ben and I are in a relationship and you three don’t approve.”

Silvestro’s guilt finally got the better of him.  “Sweetheart, it’s not necessarily that we don’t approve, it’s just that, given the circumstances, we fear this will prove much more difficult than either of you realize.”

Damiano finished chewing his duck breast and wiped his mouth before speaking.  “Besides, I would hardly call this a ‘relationship’.  How long has it been?  A little over a week?  I know my son’s track record and wager that within the week he’ll decide to move on to greener pastures.”

Not that Rosaline liked the man before, but now it was plain as day that he was kind of a dick.  The apple didn’t fall far from the tree, she supposed.

To make matters worse, his comment refueled the fire between the two patriarchs.

“Greener pastures?” Silvestro repeated incredulously.  “My daughter will not be reduced to those terms you boorish Neanderthal.”

Damiano dramatically dropped his fork on his plate.  “Would you rather I express my other theory?  How your daughter manipulated her way into my son’s bed to extract information from him to use against me?  Don’t pretend that has never crossed your mind you insufferable vermin!”

“Do you really expect me to believe you haven’t had a hand in this?”

“I’ll have a hand in ending it, you can be sure of that!”

Chair legs scraped loudly against the hardwood floor as Ben made a move to stand.  He tapped his fork against his water glass to ensure that the bickering had stopped and all eyes were on him.  “I’d like to share a story with you all, if you don’t mind.  None of you know this, but the first girl to ever make my heart race is currently seated beside me.”

Rosaline froze.  This was not part of the plan.

Nobody dared speak as Benvolio carried on with his story.  “I was eleven and my parents and I were walking through the Longwood Gardens when suddenly from across one of the fountains I spot the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.  Her hair was in two neat braids and she wore a pale blue dress as she held her father’s hand and smiled up at him.  I was mesmerized, but the moment my father noticed where my gaze had landed, he proceeded to tell me about the Capulet family and how they are a villainous lot that can’t be trusted.”

Everyone shifted their attention to Damiano, his discomfort apparent.  It served him right for telling lies to a young child like that…though Rosaline began to wonder about the truth held in her own father’s bedtime stories.

“I never told Rosaline how I felt then,” Ben continued, “because I let him poison my mind about her.  Perhaps she did too, but thank God we both came to our senses and found our own way to discover the truth.  It took me a long time to realize that we are not bound by the hate our grandfathers initiated all those years ago.  Now that I see Rosaline for who she really is, I don’t intend to let her go anytime soon.”

The rest of the occupants at the table were so stunned by his discourse that they chose to eat the remainder of their meal in silence—Rosaline included.  From its inception, the backstory they conjured involved running into each other at the café and, after talking for almost an hour, realizing how much they had in common.  The story Benvolio just shared, however, was never previously discussed and she began to wonder what manner of truth or fiction his words held.

It apparently had done its job because, in a surprise move, Rosaline’s mother began to not only sober up but she also gave in to mindless conversation with talk of Livia and Paris’ wedding.  Astonishing everyone further, her father made a point to say that if Ben and Ros were still together when a wedding date was decided on, then they would ‘of course’ extend invitations to the entire Montague family.

Damiano had half a mind to accept such an invitation.

There may be hope for a merger yet.

At evening’s end, all of Rosaline’s dinner guests had eventually trickled out, save for Benvolio.  He only intended to linger long enough to make their parents think that he was staying, but the moment their cars were out of sight, he would make his exit as well.

Using this small window of opportunity, Rosaline asked him a question that had plagued her thoughts throughout most of the evening.  “That, uh, story you told.  Was there any truth in that?”

Benvolio gave her a curious look.  “Did you own a pale blue dress as a child?”

Rosaline swallowed.  “Yes.”

“Well,” he said, his lips curving upward to form that tell-tale smirk of his, “I guess there is some truth in it after all.”

Rosaline’s shoulders fell as she narrowed her eyes at him.  Apple.  Tree.  Yep, she was certainly right about that one.

 

 


	4. Incurred Obligations

Rosaline was in the middle of doing what she did best—crunching numbers to diminish the disparity between the company’s accounts receivable and accounts payable—when, to her utter astonishment, Benvolio Montague appeared at her office doorstep, a bouquet of lavender roses in hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked through gritted teeth, eyes wide and on alert.

He feigned innocence as he stepped closer, though his Machiavellian smile easily gave him away.  “Just thought I’d check in on my beloved.  I haven’t seen you in days, so it was only natural for my fragile heart to worry that you found some other sap to feast on.”

With an eyeroll, Ros went back to entering data into her computer.  “Being clingy is quite a turn off, Montague.  It’s also a bit of a red flag when you unsuspectingly show up to my office, especially since this company rivalry thing—though on the mend—is still very much alive.”  Her nimble fingers halted their ministrations on the keyboard as she looked up at him.  “Come to think of it, how did you manage to get passed security?  I haven’t given you clearance yet.”

“So I noticed.  Luckily, I ran into your father on the way in.”  Ben set the bouquet down before circling around her desk so they could speak in confidence.  “In fact, he rode the elevator up with me, so you may want to at least pretend that you’re glad to see me because I’m fairly certain he’s watching us through your office window right now.”

Rosaline hazarded a glance over her computer monitor to see if his assumption held merit.  Honestly, watching wasn’t even the right word for what her father was doing.  Gawking seemed more appropriate.  So, as swift as turning on a light switch, Rosaline flashed a sugary sweet smile at Ben and touched his arm affectionately.  That was a thing, right?  Touching someone’s arm as a gesture of closeness?  Someone who was very recently in a committed relationship should really know these things.

“Do you think he suspects?” she asked through her smile.

He tilted his head to the side in consideration.  “Perhaps.  Or perhaps he regrets giving me clearance because he still thinks I’m using you to gain access to your revenue reports.  I suppose we’ll just have to make him think otherwise.”

She didn’t have time to ask how before Ben was leaning down and kissing her.  Not a friendly peck on the cheek, mind you, but an honest to god kiss on the lips.  The angle was off and the sensation was more bruising than pleasurable since both of their mouths remained tightly closed—not to say, of course, that there could be any actual pleasure in kissing this heinous man, because there wasn’t.  Instead, alarm bells sounded in Rosaline’s head as she considered the audacity of Ben’s brazen action, feeling around for the nearest folder on her desk that she could use to smack him with.  In the absence of a folder, she supposed her computer keyboard would suffice…

But as he eventually pulled away, her father reappeared in her periphery—still gawking from the same window, albeit uneasily now that he had witnessed his daughter lock lips with the only son of his great enemy.  She knew Ben well enough to know that he enjoyed this little game, making her uneasy with his deceptive charm and keeping her in the dark of his plan to lasciviously woo her with flowers and kisses.  She knew they had to keep up appearances, but this was simply taking things too far. 

Ros turned her head and pretended to nuzzle against his cheek.  With her face now hidden from her father’s watchful gaze, she could speak freely.  “Something you should know about me,” she said evenly.  “I have three years of kickboxing under my belt.  If you remember correctly, I had said that there are few things I detest more than when a man orders for me.  Wouldn’t you know it—you just did one of those things.”

She slowly leaned back, placing her hands on either side of his face as she smiled almost threateningly.  Not almost.  The threat was there.  “If you ever try to kiss me again without my permission—and I do say try, because you won’t succeed again—I will inflict upon you so much pain that you won’t be able to look at me without flinching.  Is that understood, Benny dear?”

His eyebrows shot up in response.  “I hate that I’m terrified yet also morbidly curious about this endeavor.”  Ben then carefully removed her hands from his face but continued to hold onto them.  “Nevertheless, I promise to respect your wish and will not kiss you again unless you want me to.”

Want him to?  Her hands slithered out of his hold.  “That will never happen.”

Benvolio, however, seemed convinced that he could change her mind.  “You say that now, but if we want people to believe we are a real couple, then we may to need to sell it.  Now, I may not be Mr. Commitment, but I do know how relationships work.  There’s hand-holding and spontaneous gift-giving”—he glanced at the flowers on her desk—“and, yes, occasionally kissing in public.  Seeing as we hail from two prominent households of this fair city, mark my words, _this_ is what the public will demand.”

It was difficult to take him seriously when he smirked liked that, self-assured and more than likely hiding some ulterior motive that wouldn’t be revealed until much later in the game.  That man was an enigma wrapped in a mystery.  Putting his arrogance aside, she forced herself to take his words at face value and ultimately concluded that his point was a valid one.  If they were to continue with this charade for the rest of the month (or potentially even longer…god, she hoped not), then a few smiles and affectionate arm-touching weren’t going to cut it.  A love story marred by family rivalry needed to be filled with tumultuous passion.  Unfortunately, that was not Rosaline’s forte.  “Fine.  A chaste kiss now and then is acceptable—but absolutely no tongue and give me some kind of warning when you’re about to do it.”  He nodded in acquiescence.  “And while we’re on the topic of relationship dos and don’ts…a dozen roses?  Really?  Did you honestly think you were the first man to be cliché enough to send me flowers based on my namesake?”

He leaned against her desk and folded his arms across his chest.  “What kind of flowers shall I send you then?”

“Why flowers at all?  They’re tacky and involve too much maintenance to only die a week later anyway.”

Ben smiled, clearly amused by her logic.  “Very well.  What does my beloved wish for instead?”

Since he was so intent on playing games, perhaps it was time for her to rise to the challenge.  “It’s hardly romantic if I tell you what to get me, don’t you think?  Spontaneity, after all, is a trusted way to keep the spark alive in a relationship, so you’ll just have to be extra observant about what I want.”

Whoa.  Where did that come from?  It was almost flirty (which was definitely NOT her intention), but, more importantly, it was ballsy…and rather refreshing.

Ben was momentarily thrown by her reply, but settled back into his cocky grin easily.  “If this is a test, I must warn you, I’m very competitive by nature.  Don’t be surprised if I end up sweeping you off your feet by month’s end.”

“Sorry but billionaire playboys aren’t really my type,” she countered.  Okay, this was kind of fun.

He pretended to be insulted by her remark.  “Well, believe it or not, I _can_ be a gentleman.  It grieves me to know that your mother thinks I’m a—what did she called me again?”

An unladylike snort escaped as Ros remembered her mother’s words.  “A mongrel.”

“She laughs,” he said, his features softening as he continued to look at her.  “At my expense, but, hell, I’ll take what I can get.”

This conversation was starting to feel a little too authentic for Rosaline’s taste, prompting her to swivel her chair back to the desk and pretend to search for a file on her computer.  “Is there anything else?”

This time, he took the hint.  “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten how terribly busy you are so I’ll see myself out.  Until this weekend, my beloved.”  He winked before making his departure, the roses still laying on the corner of her desk.

She didn’t know what bothered her more in that moment: his overuse of that abhorred nickname or the fact that she didn’t have a spare vase just lying around.

* * *

 

 

Organization was a key component of Rosaline’s success.  Her life was a rigorous schedule that she followed faithfully: work from 9-5pm Monday through Friday, her Foundations of Teamwork and Leadership lecture every Friday from 6-8pm, and her Managerial Economics lecture every Saturday from 9-11:50am.  To take part in company events (and now, unfortunately, public dates with a certain arrogant Montague) on the weekends, she had little time to study for her course load which is why Thursday nights were designated homework nights.

It was an efficient routine and as Thursday rolled around, Rosaline nestled on her couch in her Columbia University sweatpants, her laptop turned on and a giant bag of kettle corn at her side.

Several minutes had passed as she continued to stare at the welcome screen on her laptop.  It wasn’t absentmindedly.  She did so in contemplation, mentally at war with herself about whether she wanted to log on.  She knew she should—it was Thursday, after all—but something was stopping her and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. 

Shrugging it off, Rosaline stowed away her laptop and retrieved her index cards instead.  She didn’t need her computer to study.  She’ll just use the Economics flashcards she made and quiz herself.  The test was coming up soon so she might as well start preparing for it now.

She looked at the first card.  Amortization.

That one’s easy enough.  “Buying an asset to sell in another market at a higher price,” she answered—to no one in particular.

The next card read “Gilts”.

 _Shit.  What the hell were gilts?_   Rosaline remembered learning about them at the start of the semester, but her mind went suddenly blank.  It had something to do with government bonds and…wait!  Didn’t Escalus help her create a mnemonic device for this one?  The only problem was that she couldn’t remember what the device was.

“Ugh!” Rosaline finally yelled in frustration, giving up and tossing the flashcards defiantly into the air.  She’d pick them up later and secure them with a rubber band, but for now they would sit in disarray on the floor as she sulked, glutinously munching on handfuls of kettle corn.

Okay, so Thursday homework night wasn’t off to a great start.  

It was easy to pretend like she didn’t know where this mental block came from, but the harsh reality was that this wasn’t the first time he invaded her thoughts since their separation.  Homework night used to be so much fun with him around.  He’d come up with clever acronyms or imagery and then quiz her on them later, offering a kiss for every definition she got right. 

Now, as she sat in the utter stillness of her apartment—hearing only the sound of her teeth grinding against the occasional kernel that was still intact—her thoughts of him manifested into something even more abysmal: loneliness.

He answered by the second ring.  “Hey.”

She sighed into the receiver.  “Hey yourself.  I hope I’m not calling too late.  I know you usually have to be at the precinct pretty early on Fridays.”

“It’s okay.  I can make time for you.  So, what’s up?  How’s the family dealing with your budding romance?”

That’s right.  They hadn’t talked since the awkward family dinner last Sunday.  “They’re…dealing, I guess.  I mean, no one’s eager to see us married or anything, but through our exhaustive efforts to make them think that we care for each other, you could say they have fewer reservations now than they did before.  It’s funny too because Ben was kind of the wild card going into this, but his efforts are surprisingly convincing.”

Escalus didn’t answer right away, but when he did it caught her off guard.  “You don’t think he might actually have feelings for you, do you?”

“What?!”  As preposterous as it was to believe that Benvolio Montague could even possess such feelings, she couldn’t deny the small thrill it caused her to believe that Escalus might be jealous of him.  “Of course not!  He’s been a complete cad in his treatment of me since we were forced to interact back in college.  Livia’s the only one he’s shown genuine kindness toward.  If anything, he’s into her and not me.”

A soft chuckle resounded from the other end of the phone.  “Everyone’s kind to Livia.  It’s impossible not to be.”  Accepting her steadfast reply, he decided to change topics.  “So, how’s work going?  Did you bring up the merger to your father yet?”

“It’s a bit too early for that, unfortunately.  We need to make our couple status more official by attending public events together and things of that nature.  There’s a Digital Design Summit on Sunday that both of our families are planning to attend so we’ll see how that goes first.”

“Baby steps,” he then concurred.  “I get it.”

She had no intention to bring this up, truly, but after noting his jealousy only moments ago, Rosaline was more than curious how he’d react.  “Yeah, we were a little worried yesterday when Ben visited me at work and father seemed suspicious of his intentions there.  But then he kissed me and I think that quieted any doubts he might’ve had on the legitimacy of our relationship.”

It might’ve been a low blow, egging on her pseudo ex-boyfriend by admitting that she kissed her current fake boyfriend, but, honestly, this whole situation was so fucked up to begin with, she might as well find ways to amuse herself now and again.   And making Escalus jealous was definitely amusing.  Just watch.  Any second know he would voice his disapproval of the whole thing….

Any second now…

“It was smart of him to think on his feet like that,” he said, perfunctory and void of any emotion.  “You know that I’ve personally never been fond of PDA, but if that’s what it takes to get the public and your fathers to believe in this relationship, then you might as well commit to it.  I, uh, hope that doesn’t make you too uncomfortable—you know, being affectionate with someone you despise.”

Thank goodness Ros wasn’t a betting person.  If she was, she would’ve bet everything she owned that Escalus would not answer the way he did just now.  How wrong she was, and lonely still.

“I’ll live,” she replied, any amusement she felt reduced to a flicker until that too vanished. “It’s not something I’m looking forward to doing again anytime soon, but I took a theater class in high school so I know how to play my part.”

“Listen,” he said, abruptly changing course, “I hate to cut this short, but I should probably hit the hay.  I’m also on call for the weekend so who knows when I’ll get another decent night’s sleep.”

It was wrong of Rosaline to feel so disappointed, but, deep down, she knew she wasn’t disappointed in him.  She was disappointed by what they had become.  This wasn’t supposed to have serious repercussion on her personal life.  Though Rosaline was very vocal about her initial reservations toward this scheme, everyone else was almost immediately on board.  They promised her that it was for the best, that after the companies merged Ros and Ben would amicably break up and she could be with Escalus again and everything would turn out fine. 

As Rosaline felt her relationship with Escalus slowly crumbling before her, she wasn’t so sure everything would turn out fine after all.   “Right.  Of course.  I get it.  Well, I’m glad we got the chance to talk.”  _I miss you._

“Me too.”

She pretended his answer was in response to the thought in her head, a thought she was suddenly too cowardly to voice.  This contented her enough to finally end the call.  Maybe it was their lengthy time apart that had made him seem colder.  Maybe they could still come back from this after all was said and done. 

Pretending was really starting to feel like an art form.  It wouldn't take long before she mastered it.

 


	5. Adaptive Conjoint Analysis

It didn’t take long for Rosaline to fall into a pattern—a pattern she was oddly getting used to.  She still found Benvolio Montague, at times, absolutely repugnant, but their masks of affection towards one another had been worn so frequently now that it eventually became easier to laugh at his jokes in public and steal a kiss when they thought no one was looking (while fully aware that someone was _always_ looking).

Sunday’s Digital Design Summit was informative, presenting some amazing technological innovations that Rosaline hoped to one day incorporate into Capulet, Inc.’s advertising stratagems.  However, the real marvel, at least to everyone else in attendance, was the spectacle of the infamous Capulet and Montague families socializing and actually behaving civil toward one another. 

One woman had the nerve to bring up the cocktail party of 2014 and Ros nearly lost it.  Ben gently tugged her elbow to reign her in, making sure she didn’t say something to the woman she would later regret.  “People are going to bring up the past whether we like it or not,” he reminded her in hushed tones.  “Just smile and nod and prove to them how much we’ve grown since then.”

Rosaline’s eyes flew heavenward.  “I just don’t understand why this city can’t find anything else to talk about.  It happened three years ago.  They need to get over it, already!”

“Ros,” he said flatly, scrutinizing her astonishment, “we got into a public argument which led to inadvertently shoving the mayor in the pool.  That’s not something you ‘get over’ in a minute.”

“The mayor did,” she responded meekly.  “Eventually.”

As they rejoined their families, a photographer from the local paper asked to snap a photo of them altogether, ensuring that the ‘happy’ couple was front and center.  Ben wrapped a possessive arm around her waist and, this time, Ros didn’t immediately go rigid at his touch.  Their story made the front page the next morning, the caption reading “Can Two Powerhouses Become One?”

There was a double meaning in that, the obvious one being the potential to become one by way of marriage, but it appeared that the media had begun brewing their own theories on what it would mean for Philadelphia if the two manufacturing companies became one as well.  Fortunately, her father mostly ignored the latter implication, chocking it up to idle gossip and speculation.  And more fortunate still was that the article had caught Isabella’s attention.  According to Escalus’ intel, she had called him up that very day to inquire what he knew about the two companies (given his past relationship with Capulet’s eldest daughter).

Giuliana didn’t bother reading the article, glancing at the photo and merely laughing at how absurd they all looked, contrived smiles on most of their faces.  “Is this the beginning of the end then?” she asked by way of greeting when she called her daughter Monday morning.  Rosaline wasn’t given a chance to respond.  “Are you really content with throwing away a secure and happy future with a fine man like Escalus?  He’ll be commissioner one day.  Just remember that as you continue to waste your youth on a philanderer who hardly seems capable of inheriting his father’s business.  If he does, he’ll likely run it into the ground.  And where will that leave you, dear?”

“Depending on my own security, mother,” Ros responded swiftly before hanging up on the woman. 

It was clear that her mother favored Escalus for all the wrong reasons.  Never mind if she loved him.  Maybe that was why Giuliana detested Ben so much—because ‘love’ was seemingly the only thing holding them together.  It was then that Rosaline began to wonder how much love existed between her own parents…or was that a matter of security as well?

Conversely, it became increasingly apparent that her father was starting to come around to the idea of having a Montague in their lives.  One night, after dining at the Capulet house, Silvestro invited Ben into his study for scotch and stogies.  Though the hour they spent in each other’s company had Rosaline nervously pacing the foyer (the spitting image of her father), they eventually emerged laughing and making plans to go golfing in a few days time.

“I thought Iwas supposed to fall in love with you,” she joked on the drive back to her apartment, “not my father.”

He smiled and glanced at her before turning his eyes back on the road.

And so the rift that divided the offspring of these two foes slowly began to converge.  ‘Friends’ was still too bold of a word to use in conjecture with their complicated relationship.  ‘Acquaintances with a mutual understanding’ was no less complicated but, at the very least, an accurate summation of what they were to one another.  Ros began to discover more about Ben as time went on—and it was time spent that she no longer abhorred.  She recounted as much to Livia when they met up one morning for coffee before work.

“Ben’s never owned a pet before,” she said.  They were seated at their usual table at The Verona.  “He thinks cats and dogs are too high maintenance.  He did, however, see a special on pygmy goats on Animal Planet and has decided that is the only pet he would ever consider owning.”

Livia chose the wrong moment to take a sip of her latte, covering her mouth to make sure it didn’t come back up amidst her choking laughter.  “A pygmy goat?  How odd!  If he does get one, I’ll probably want to see it though.  Those things are so cute and tiny!”

There was an even keel to Rosaline’s voice as she shrugged her shoulders.  “Well, the closest pygmy farm is in Bucks County, which isn’t too far away but there’s this whole, exhaustive process to own one.  There are at least five forms you have to fill out before you can even qualify.”

“Doing research now, are we?” Livia teased, waggling her eyebrows.  “Careful, sis.  One might suspect you’re starting to like the guy.”

“That is absolutely not true and you know it!”  Ros immediately worried that her tone was a bit too defensive, so she eased up a bit.  “I mean, apart from getting him to answer questions on this ‘Getting to Know You’ survey I found online, he still hasn’t been very forthcoming about certain aspects of his life.  I’ve been prodding Ben for weeks about his hobbies but he continues to keep them locked up like some safe-guarded secret.  He could have skeletons in his closet, for all I know—and I do mean that literally.”

Liv rolled her eyes.  “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?  Besides, I was only joking.  I may be the only one that sees it, thankfully, but there’s a strain in the way you pretend to be in love with Ben—which he is much better at, by the way.”  She took another sip, mulling over her observations of the pair’s unorthodox romance.  “You do realize it’s pretend, right?  We’re not actually asking you to fall in love with Ben.”

Rosaline snorted.  “Of course, I know that.  And despite what my subconscious is trying to tell me, I can assure you that will never happen.”

“What’s this about your subconscious?” her sister asked, eyebrows knitting together.

Oops.  She might’ve said too much.

Ros attempted to wave it off dismissively.  “Oh, nothing.”  She busied herself with the task of stirring her drink once more.  “Really, it’s nothing.”

Naturally, Livia knew better than to believe her sister.  “Rosaline…”

“Okay, whatever, it’s not a big deal or anything”—which was probably not the best way to start it since people automatically assume that it is, indeed, a big deal—“but I maybe, sort of had a dream about him the other night.”

This had regret written all over it, especially as Livia’s eyes instantly lit up.  “A sex dream?”

Her spoon made a loud clang as it slammed against the inside of her mug.  “Say that a little louder,” she whispered, infuriated by her sister’s question, “I don’t think the couple at the back table heard you!”

“Sorry, I just wasn’t prepared for this to happen.  I mean, I’ve seen conflict between two people incite carnal passion before, but…well, that really only happens in movies and—”

“Alright,” Ros interjected, not wanting to know where Liv was going with that, “let me set the record straight on a few things.  First, this notion of ‘carnal passion’ is false.  It was a teeny-tiny dream that happened once.  I’ve had way more ridiculous fantasies.  Remember that steamy dream I told you about where I run into Bill Gates in the copy room?”

Livia cringed.  “Yes.  Thanks for bringing up that mental image again.”

“Second,” she continued, “it wasn’t even a good sex dream because it ignored all of my usual fantasies and went straight to the stereotypical ‘Oh, don’t mind me. I‘m just vacuuming your living room in my boxer briefs’ fantasy.  I mean, it barely turned me on.”

Her sister, however, was not convinced.  “Barely, huh?”

“I’m sorry, but is it a crime to be turned on?  Even by someone as unconventional as Ben?  In case you’ve forgotten, I haven’t been allowed to be in a real relationship for nearly a month now which means it’s been that long since I last got laid!”

Her apparent sexual frustration caused her voice to raise unexpectedly at the end and, perhaps, more than a few patrons of The Verona turned their heads in alarm.

Livia caught second-hand embarrassment, ducking her head as she lifted the coffee cup to her lips.  As the attention eventually drew away from them, she glanced up at her sister, willing herself to be the empathetic companion she clearly needed.  “Listen, I believe you.  The dream meant nothing and you don’t have feelings for Ben.”  Rosaline merely drew in a long breath and released it slowly as she woefully rested her cheek against her palm.  “Just…be careful, okay?  I know I was the one that convinced you to be a pawn in this game, but I don’t want to see you get hurt.  It’s one thing to play a role, but it’s another thing entirely when you begin to blur the lines between fantasy and reality.”

Livia’s concerns were sweet but unfounded.  The fantasy of Benvolio Montague might have had a more substantial effect on a younger version of herself, but not now.  Rosaline was a different person now; wiser and ripe with the knowledge of men and their wicked games.  Besides, her career was more important than all that.  Even Escalus knew as much and remembering that tidbit made her all the more eager to press on.

“I’ll be fine, little sister.  There’s nothing to worry about.”

 

 

“Remember what we discussed?” Rosaline asked, worried beyond belief.

“Yes, of course I do.”

This was not, however, enough of an assurance to quell her nerves as she began pacing the length of her office.  “I need you to repeat it back to me.”

Ben released a ragged breath, resting his weight against her desk as he recited his pledge.  “I promise not to antagonize any of the Capulet, Inc. employees nor will I make any unnecessary wisecracks.”

She ignored his inclusion of the word ‘unnecessary’.  All were unnecessary by her account.  “This is non-negotiable, Ben.  My father may think you’re an amusing golf partner, but he has a very firm stance on sarcasm in the workplace.  I know the world is just one big joke to you, but this merger is potentially the most important thing I’ll ever do.  I need this to work.”

Compassion was something Ros slowly discovered Ben actually possessed, though he seldom showed it.  He showed it now, however, as he propelled himself off her desk and halted her frantic movements by placing his hands on either shoulder.  “Rosaline, you have my word.  I won’t intentionally say or do anything that could jeopardize the outcome of this meeting.  Lord knows that if I merely breathe in their presence, they’ll find me at fault for something, but I promise there will be no obstructions on my end.  I’m invested in this just as much as you are…okay, perhaps not _as_ much as you.  Let’s just say a fair amount.”

She lifted her hand, proving the existence of her tremors.  “I don’t know why I keep overanalyzing this.  It’s not as if my father’s going to hoist me on his shoulders and take a lap around the office in celebration of this plan, let alone put it into consideration.”

“Well, that’s a shame.  I would actually love to see that.”  His comment was meant as a distraction and, though she appreciated the gesture, this was not the version of Ben she needed right now.  She communicated as much with a warning glare and in response his hands travelled down to take hold of her trembling ones.  “You’re going to kill it in there, okay?  And, yes, your father’s a bit of a hothead, but just remember that this is our first attempt at explaining the proposal.  If he shoots it down—fine.  We’ll re-strategize and try again later, or, at the very least, attempt to get _my_ father on board first.”

“You mean the universe isn’t going to spontaneously combust the moment we walk into that conference room?” she asked, not entirely convinced that it wouldn’t.

“I think it’s a little more likely for him to hoist you on his shoulders.  Just don’t let him talk till you’re finished and remember that no matter what, I’ve got your back.”  She glanced down at their clasped hands, and after spending too long debating whether the notion was pleasant or unpleasant, Ben took her confusion as a sign to release his hold and made to open her office door.  “So…are you ready to kick some ass?”

Easier said than done.  To the outward observer, Rosaline was a force to be reckoned with.  She graduated from high school and then college at the top of her class, began working at one of the most prestigious consumer goods distributors in Philadelphia at the age of 21 (through nepotism, but still…), and has proved in four short years that her dedication to the company would make her a top contender for CEO upon Silvestro’s retirement.  Girls wanted to be her and guys wanted to be with her.

If only they knew of the insecurities that plagued Rosaline from such a constant pressure to be great.

It was especially nerve-wracking, in moments like this, when risks were involved.  She didn’t typically like risky ventures—preferred the safety of numbers and figures with guaranteed results.  Ben was much more equipped to step outside his comfort zone and, oddly enough, knowing that he was by her side helped Rosaline swallow down her nerves as she entered the conference room full of stuffy, old business men.

Well, that, and the fact that Capulet, Inc. was really out of options at this point.

Ros stood at one end of the table while her father sat poised at the other.  She set up her PowerPoint on the projector and when she looked up Silvestro gave her an affectionate nod to begin.

“Thank you all for coming,” she started, remembering the business etiquette she learned in school.  “As you are all keenly aware—”

“Why is the Montague boy here?” Sampson interrupted, leaning back in his chair and giving the pair a scrutinizing look.

From his seat next to Ros, Ben merely raised his eyebrows, though she could tell it had taken significant effort for him to hold his tongue.

Fortunately, his presence was easily vouched for.  “He’s not here as a Montague,” Silvestro stated, without any need for elaboration.  “Isn’t that right, my boy?”

Ben sat up a little straighter after being addressed.  “Um, that is correct, sir.  Rosaline has prepared a rather remarkable presentation for you today and I wanted to be here to express my support of it.”

Something other than nerves fluttered in Rosaline’s stomach, but she hardly gave it a moment’s thought before opting to reclaim everyone’s attention.  “Yes, and I truly hope that after today he won’t be the only person in this room whose support I can count on.  As I was saying…”


	6. Future Value Projections

Perspective.  That was Rosaline’s goal for this afternoon’s meeting—prove to every chief officer of Capulet, Inc., her father included, that she deserved to stand before them while shedding light on the company’s current situation.  That situation was this: Capulet, Inc. has never before faced such financial hardships and although shaving off 30% of the manufacturing salary budget seemed like the best course of action, they still needed to consider the costly severance packages, the potential negative press attention, and the possibility of disgruntled employees going to competitors that came with it.  “Reducing manufacturing costs does not guarantee that this company will still stay afloat,” she said.  “All it does is give us more time—time to discover how to rebrand and find success or time to sink our way into obscurity.”

Some of the men grumbled in accordance with her line of thinking, others in stubborn indifference, but when Ros began detailing what she proposed instead, she made sure to strategically use words like ‘global markets’ and ‘affluent investors’ to bait them all in.  Isabella’s involvement was her piéce de résistance.  Rosaline boasted of her connection to the famed heiress and how easily she could arrange a meeting to discuss investment opportunities that could likely triple their earning potential in less than a year.

To a bunch of stuffy, geriatric pessimists, such a proposal seemed too good to be true.  Their assumptions were brought to fruition the moment she concluded precisely what it would take to get an investment from Isabella…or, more importantly, who.

Their grumbles turned into that of resounding frustration.  Her father looked jaded, shoulders slumped as he regarded his daughter with a look that could only be described as pity.  “Rosaline, is this truly why you’ve brought us here today?”

At hearing his superior’s censure mirror his own, Sampson was obliged to add his two cents worth.  “Have you learned nothing from Gregory’s proposal?”  More than a few gazes turned on poor Gregory.  He sat opposite Benvolio, his own gaze fixed on the cufflink of his suit jacket that he was absentmindedly fidgeting with.  “He was lucky he wasn’t sacked on the spot.  Of course, _your_ fate can withstand such bold suggestions, considering your relations.”

Rosaline’s hands unconsciously clenched at her sides as she fought off every urge to slap that smug smile off the heinous man’s face.  Sampson often used her nepotism as a bargaining chip and, try as she might, it rattled her just as often.  There was no denying that the CEO of this consumer goods conglomerate looked favorably on Ros for obvious reasons, but they didn’t know her father like she did.  For as long as she could remember, Silvestro Capulet raised his daughters to believe that rewards are earned.  Livia rightfully earned all the 1st place trophies she received at her swim meets in high school because of the countless hours she put into perfecting her backstroke.  Rosaline certainly earned every A she received throughout her entire academic career.  But academics wasn’t the only thing that she worked hard to excel at.  There was also this job, this company.  By that right alone, Rosaline felt confident that she had earned her place here and would understandably accept whatever judgment her father deemed appropriate.

“Initially, I reacted the same way you all did.  But something changed—” she glanced at Ben, who nodded encouragingly, “and the prospect grew on me, and as I sat down to go through the numbers with Gregory it became comprehensively clear that a horizontal merger with Montague and Co. is the smartest course of action for this company to thrive and not merely survive.  It’s not going to be easy.  It’s going to take hard work and dedication on all sides, but I believe that our company has the potential to turn out some amazing products in markets all across the world…so long as we give this unorthodox venture a fighting chance.  Now, I’ve compiled a list of business mergers over the last ten years and if you look at their revenue per capita before and after the merger, I think you’ll find that—”

“Listen, honey,” Sampson interjected, twirling his pen between his fingers and seemingly unfazed by the fact that he was singlehandedly ruining this important moment for her, “you can throw out numbers all you want, but no amount of data is ever going to convince me to shake hands with the scumbags across the street.

“No offense, kid,” he added with a half-hearted glance in Ben’s direction.

Ben’s reaction to such an obviously pointed insult, however, was the least of Rosaline’s concerns as she was currently preoccupied with her own silent fuming.  _Honey_?  Did he really have the gall to call her _honey_?  Was she just reduced to an outdate stereotype of a woman who doesn’t know her place? 

Okay, that might have been a stretch, and Ros might have been bingewatching a little too much _Mad Men_ but that didn’t change the fact that Sampson was trying to hijack her meeting, talking down to her just because he thought he could.  Whether the guy lacked respect for her because she was a woman, because of her apparent nepotism, or because of her association with a known Montague was hard to know for sure.  All Ros did know was that, somehow, she let him get to her, and now found herself standing before a conference room full of imposing businessmen…utterly frozen.

Sampson’s rebuff wasn’t even a good one.  It was petty and childish and under any other circumstance Ros would easily win the debate with her in-depth knowledge on the matter.  But that was all irrelevant compared to the fact that she remained stock-still, eyes wide and brain searching for something, anything to say…

“I wonder,” came a voice, deafening amidst the dull buzz of her disconcerted mind.  It was Ben.  “I wonder how you all have forgotten the most vital part of Rosaline’s proposal: Ms. Isabella Cosimo.”  He shoved his hands in his pockets as he rose from his chair, oozing with a confidence that was striking when juxtaposed with the way Ros looked at present.  “It’s easy to be persuaded by one’s pride—speaking from experience—especially when it blinds us to such trivial matters as facts and numbers, am I right?  But what about this number: 12.7 million.  For the less-informed, that’s how many dollars Isabella converted to euros to invest in a chain of bakeries in France.  All because she thought their ‘macaroons were sensational’.”

He had their attention, but, more importantly, he had hers.

“Or how about,” he continued, slowly circling the table of men in their finely tailored suits like a covetous vulture, “when Ms. Cosimo created a crowdfunding platform for other notable investors to diversify their portfolios among 16 different startup companies.  What was the total investment among them?  Any guesses?  $48 million—and one of those companies, if you recall, managed to make an appearance on the Fortune 500 last year.”

Rosaline took notice of how stoically quiet Sampson had become in the last 30 seconds, no tongue-in-cheek remarks to be found.  This sudden role reversal was precisely what she needed to find her voice again, invigorated by Ben’s support and ready to lead the charge.  “Gentleman, here’s the bottom line: we need money.  Ms. Cosimo happens to have A LOT of money, and I can, at the very least, get us a meeting with her.  I cannot, however, guarantee that she’ll consider investing with Capulet, Inc. unless we show her realistic and substantial growth projections…and the only way she’ll believe it is if we merge with the company that stands as our current competition.”

As she left them with that final thought, the mere fact that they were all silently mulling over what she said was a good sign…right?  Sampson remained aloof, occasionally glancing at some of the other men to see if one of them had the courage to speak up.  It quickly became apparent that they were all waiting on Silvestro’s verdict, fearful to show either support or aversion towards this merger in case their opinion was not in line with his.

The tension in the room was palpable and patience was waning.  Rosaline refused to disturb the silence, however, so long as her father continued his musings.

“Montague would never buy into it,” was what Silvestro finally said in response.

And just like that, the tension was gone.  Rosaline slowly released the breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding in.   With a glance in Ben’s direction, she fought every urge to grin like an idiot.

“Leave that to me, sir,” he graciously replied, taking the lead on this one.  “I know my father a lot better than he thinks.”

Silvestro, however, was quick to rein in their obvious elation.  “You do realize that this is not a definitive yes, of course.  Leave me a copy of your proposal, Ros darling, so I can look at the figures later this evening.”

“Of course,” she replied, handing him her portfolio (which was practically the length of a dissertation—she was nothing if not thorough) before ending the meeting, everyone quickly dispersing as they were eager to get back to work.

She wanted to wait until they safely made it back to her office to express the full extent of her excitement, but they barely made it into the elevator before she turned to Ben with a dazzlingly bright smile on her face. 

“I can’t believe that just fucking happened!” she squeaked out.

Benvolio responded with his own amused smile.  “I can’t believe you just said fuck.”

“Well, that’s certainly not true.  I’m pretty sure I’ve told you to fuck off on more than one occasion.”  After spending so much time together, banter became the norm.  Ros easily accepted that part of their budding acquaintance (or whatever they were to one another), but when things turned serious she may have started to panic a bit.  

She could’ve ignored it too, could’ve kept on smiling about the day’s success and, instead, strategized with Ben about the appropriate next steps in their plan.  But she couldn’t ignore her nagging thoughts, especially that of her father reminding a much smaller version of herself that ‘our rewards will always be in exact proportion to our service.’  Ben did her an enormous service today and, though she loathed to admit it, recompense was undoubtedly due.

“Thank you…for, uh, all that back there,” she said, swallowing uneasily and staring at her feet.  “I’m not quite sure what happened.  I don’t know if you could tell, but I’m not too fond of our current Chief Operating Officer.  Sampson was really starting to tick me off and…I just froze.  I, uh, couldn’t have done it without you.”

Ben shrugged his shoulders and scratched the scruff on the underside of his neck, which was a miniscule action in itself but a huge relief to Ros, knowing that he was just as discomfited by this awkward and uncharacteristic display of emotion.  “It was the least I could do, Capulet.  Besides, that guy was getting on my nerves too.  My options were to either lunge at him for calling my girlfriend ‘honey’ or beat him at his own game with the power of information.  The latter not only got him off your back, but it also kept me at my word about not directly antagonizing any of the employees so I’d call that a win-win.”

She didn’t respond right away, preoccupied with how he called her his girlfriend so casually (and unnecessarily, seeing as they were alone in an elevator).  Then she spent a good few seconds picturing Ben comically lunging himself across the conference table to defend her honor.  She stored that one away for future reference. 

“I must admit,” she said, ridding herself of those unacceptable thoughts with a flourish, “I was kind of impressed by the way you handled yourself in there—the way you stared them all down with such conviction and then that stuff about Isabella.  I didn’t even have those numbers in my portfolio and you just start reciting it as if it was common knowledge.  Since when did you become a wolf on Wall Street?”

He seemed almost insulted by her previous lack of faith.  “Just because my father is grooming me for something I don’t necessarily want to do, that doesn’t mean I haven’t been listening.  I know how to do my research.”

“Apparently,” she replied, contemplating whether she was intrigued by this image of Ben, the confident business mogul, or if that image was nothing more than an ill-fitting suit.  He already admitted that much to be true and she wondered, instead of following in his father’s footsteps, what he preferred to do with his life.  Unlike all the previous times this topic was broached, Rosaline didn’t feel compelled to ask him now.  She decided that if he really wanted her to know, he would tell her in his own time.

As the elevator dinged, opening its doors, Rosaline was too focused on Benvolio to notice the person approaching.  Giuliana Capulet’s voice, however, was not one she’d easily mistake.  “No, you may not put me on hold, you incompetent moron.”  She must’ve been on the phone.  “If your supervisor does not call me back with a solution within the next ten minutes, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”

Deeming her mother’s rant yet another listless matter, Ros, still inspired by their recent victory, had a devilish idea.  “Hey, want to piss off my mother?”

“Do you even have to ask?” he replied, a lopsided grin forming.

She acted swiftly, knowing if she hesitated, even for a moment, she might lose her nerve.  As her mother neared the elevator, Rosaline surged forward, wrapping her arms around Ben’s neck and pulling him down for a bruising kiss.

They’ve kissed before—a peck on the cheek here, a brush of lips there—but those kisses were brief and never violated society’s guidelines for public displays of affection.  Spurred on by this radical, risk-taking version of herself, she wanted to violate them now and kiss him like he was the Bogart to her Bergman.

“Really, Rosaline?”

There was also the added bonus of forcing her mother to witness such an improper display.

She smiled against Ben’s lips.

And with the slightest shift everything changed.

It started with his hand, pressing firmly against the small of her back until they were so close she could feel the thumping of his heart beneath the lapel of his Hugo Boss jacket.  It was erratic, but Ros barely had a moment to dwell on that before his head tilted ever-so-slightly, this new alignment allowing him to really kiss her now, latching onto her bottom lip as if he was drawing something out of her.  Eyes still closed, her eyebrows raised in bewilderment.

She would ponder much later, in the solitude of her apartment, whether this was all part of the act, or if it was something else.  Something…unexpected.  But for now, she allowed herself to get lost in the kiss.  She missed this—missed the surging warmth and the dizzying passion that a wonderful kiss ignited.  Ros hadn’t been kissed like this in such a long time.  Before Escalus even.  Not since…

Rosaline pulled back from Ben, more abruptly than she intended, but quickly covered her tracks by feigning surprise toward her mother’s presence.  “Oh!  Hello, Mother.  I didn’t realize you’d be stopping by the office today.”  Ben seemed unperturbed by her sudden deviation and she hoped that what transpired between them never needed mentioning again.

“Yes, well the day is full of surprises, isn’t it?” she replied, giving Benvolio a disapproving once over.  “And where, pray tell, are you two off to?”

It was only then that Rosaline realized they had passed the floor that housed her office—in her excitement she must’ve forgotten to push the button for the 7th floor—and were now in the lobby.  She had every intention to get back to work.  The tedious preparation put into today’s meeting put her a day behind drafting the company’s reconciliation reports and, seeing as it was only 3pm, she probably still had time to finish them before day’s end.

But with a quick glance at Ben, his head tilted and eyebrows raised in silent communication that the ball was still in her court, Ros had come to the conclusion that she was spending far too much time with this foolhardy man…and that he was a terrible influence.

“Out,” she finally responded, as if that would be enough to quell her mother’s concerns.

It wasn’t.  “I beg your pardon?”

Of course, Ros didn’t really have a plan past that, which was when Ben chivalrously came to her aid.  “Your daughter just nailed a very lucrative pitch meeting,” he elaborated, sliding his hand within hers and linking their fingers together.  “It seemed only prudent to take her out to celebrate.  Ready, my beloved?”

Ros nodded smugly before being led out of the elevator and past the double entrance doors, the faint sound of her mother bellowing “What pitch meeting?” left in their wake.


	7. Limited Liability Partnership

When Rosaline awoke the next morning, it was to three painful realizations.  The first, that the root of all evil was not, in fact, money but alcohol and she should really take the words ‘in moderation’ more seriously—lest she turn into her mother.  Several bottles of water and round the clock Tylenol were undoubtedly required to rid herself of this monstrous hangover.

And coffee.  Lots and lots of coffee.

The second, that though she couldn’t exactly remember what transpired last night, the heavy feeling in her chest had somehow convinced her that it was bad, heartbreakingly bad.  Whether she wanted it to or not, Ros knew her memory would return in time, especially once she willed herself out of bed to take a hot shower.

That was when the final realization struck, rubbing her bleary eyes and sitting up to glance at the vintage alarm clock on her bedside table.  It read 10:47, which meant—unless her eyes were deceiving her or this was some horrible nightmare she had yet to wake up from—Rosaline was two hours late for work.

Hastily throwing back her comforter, Ros, too panicked to concern herself with the customary effects of a hangover, took one step onto the carpeted floor before instantly feeling woozy and collapsing on the ground. 

“This is somehow Benvolio’s doing,” she grumbled from her spot on the floor.  Ben was, after all, at the forefront of the only memory she had of last night—skipping out on work and hopping in his Maserati so they could have a few celebratory drinks somewhere in Logan Square.  The name of the restaurant alluded her, but she definitely remembered being talked into getting beer instead of wine.  And then there were those nachos that made her nauseous to think about now but, at the time, were _so_ appetizing, all knowledge of refined dining manners flew out the window.  At any rate, she had no one to impress, and—from what little she could recall—Ben seemed amused rather than appalled by the unsophisticated way in which she shoveled those cheese-slathered chips into her mouth.

Everything after that, unfortunately, faded into obscurity.

After taking a few steadying breaths, Ros made a second attempt to stand, only much slower this time.  She then impulsively reached for her phone on the bedside table to see if anyone had yet to notice her absence from work.  Fourteen missed calls and eight unread text messages answered that question easily enough.  It made sense, though.  Rosaline had never been late for work a day in her life.  To be honest, she was surprised the police hadn’t knocked down her door at her parents’ behest.  For all they knew, she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

Ros began to flip through the text messages, morbid curiosity getting the best of her.  The most recent one was from Ben. 

**You owe me big time.**

In typical Benvolio fashion, his text went the overtly cryptic route, refusing to explain what it was that she apparently owed him.  With her job currently in jeopardy, however, unveiling that mystery wasn’t high on her list of priorities.

So, she clicked on the second text.  It was from her sister.

**Hey, love.  Just checking to make sure you’re okay.  Ben filled me in on what happened last night.  What a scoundrel!  Paris and I are here for you.  Call me when you’re feeling up to it. <3**

Okay.  So, she was definitely right in assuming that _something_ happened last night, but who was the scoundrel Livia was referring to?  Piecing their texts together, she was forced to rule out Benvolio as the culprit.  He certainly seemed, however, to be her best eyewitness and so she made a mental note to get a hold of him later.  Since her muddled brain still refused to give her anymore glimpses into last night’s festivities, Ros moved onto the next text, hoping that each one could somehow fill in the gaping holes in her memory.

**We need to talk.**

Escalus?  That was unexpected.  Considering they hadn’t spoken in over a week, Ros wondered if the timing of his text was a bizarre coincidence…or if he was somehow involved with the yet unknown events of the night before.  The sudden churning in the pit of her stomach had her leaning towards the latter.

Unfortunately, there was little to no time for Ros to dwell on that now as she quickly realized that the last five messages were from—good god, her mother.

**Rosaline, your father has informed me that you have not shown up to work yet.  He has tried to call you several times.  Please respond immediately.**

**Rosaline, this is no joking matter.  If you care about this company and your position in it, you will tell us where you are at once!**

She would’ve been more nervous about her mother’s threat were it not for the following text.

**Of course, your father and I are also worried about your safety and well-being.  Hence why you should really call one of us.  Please, Rosaline!!**

If adding a second exclamation point didn’t emphasize her mother’s current stress level, her next text certainly did.

**SO HELP ME GOD, ROSALINE CAPULET, IF YOU DO NOT INFORM SOMEONE OF YOUR WHEREABOUTS WITHIN THE NEXT TEN MINUTES I WILL BE FORCED TO ASSUME THAT YOU’RE LYING DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!!!**

That woman was so predictable sometimes—and yet, seeing as this was sent 30 minutes ago, the local authorities should’ve been banging on her door by now.  The reason why they were not was explained (sort of) in her mother’s last text.

**Disregard my previous messages.  We have been assured of your safety.**

_Assured of her safety_?  By who?  Discontented with being on the outside looking in, Rosaline decided it was time to seek some answers.

Though her parents were fed some form of intel regarding her marked absence, she didn’t want to risk being any more delayed to work than she had to be.  So, (reluctantly) nixing her original plan to take a hot shower, Ros grabbed the first blouse and set of trousers she could find before dousing herself in apricot-scented body splash.  She then put her hair in a professional—albeit slightly skewed—bun, slipped into her comfiest flats, grabbed her purse and a bottle of water, and was out the door in under ten minutes.

Caffeine was still very much a necessity, but that would have to wait until she got to the office.  At the very least, she hoped some of that cheap sludge they called coffee would still be left in the break room.  Drinking _that_ was better than nothing—though she vowed that one of her first orders of business after her promotion would be replacing that crappy community coffee pot with a state-of-the-art espresso machine.  What better way to boost corporate morale than with gourmet espresso, right?

Ros mentally berated herself as she got in her car and stuck the key in the ignition.  _Promotion.  What promotion?_   Regardless of what her parents had been told, it didn’t excuse the fact that she left work early yesterday and was arriving notably late today.  Any other boss would probably threaten her with the possibility of termination, thus making today one of the few instances she was glad to have nepotism on her side.  She’d have to table the idea of a promotion though until, at the very least, the merger became lucrative.

It was a good fifteen-minute drive to Capulet, Inc., so, with her Bluetooth hooked up in her car, Ros used this time to get those much-needed answers she was seeking.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Ben greeted upon answering his phone.  “Did you make it into work yet?”

As a force of habit, Rosaline rolled her eyes.  “Not yet but I have a vague idea of what awaits me there.  My father’s probably pacing his office and there’s a good chance my mother will be there too, anxious to bombard me with questions, so, you know, this should be fun.”  

Ben easily detected her sarcasm and laughed.  “You can rest easy, my friend.  I’ve already sorted everything out with them, so you should be in the clear.”

My friend?  That was a new one.  He had taken to calling her ‘my beloved’ in public (mostly to piss her off), but to her recollection, Benvolio Montague wouldn’t be caught dead calling a Capulet his friend.

Just then, a glimmer of a memory from the night before resurfaced.

_“Ben, are we friends?” she had asked, the threat of tears stinging her eyes as she fruitlessly attempted to bat them away._

_His smile looked oddly resigned to it.  “I’m afraid so.  After spending so much time in each other’s company, something as foolish as friendship was bound to happen.”_

_He grabbed a napkin from the bar and silently handed it to her.  She dabbed at her eyes as Ben wrapped an arm securely around her waist to keep her steady during their short trek out to his car._

Coming back from the memory, Rosaline refocused on the road in front of her.  So, after one night of drinking (and apparently crying, which she’ll need to get to the bottom of) they were kinda, sorta friends now.  Not that she was complaining, of course.Ben had proved that he was a fairly decent guy on more than one occasion, past transgressions aside.  It was just strange for them to openly acknowledge that this fake relationship thing wasn’t so bad after all and that maybe (just maybe) peace was in the cards for the Montague and Capulet families.

“Sorted everything out?” Ros echoed after processing what he had said.  “Is this why I owe you ‘big time’ then?”

“Well,” he drawled, “it’s one thing to cover for your girlfriend at work, but it’s another thing entirely when her mother—who I don’t remember giving my number to—calls me at 9 o’clock in the morning to shout insults and accusations regarding my ‘deplorable corruption’ of her daughter.”

Though the image of Ben looking like a deer in the headlights while her mother verbally assaulted him was entertaining, to say the least, she sympathized with him—knowing all too well that the wrath of Giuliana Capulet could cripple even the bravest of souls.  “Yeah, sorry about that.  For the record, I did _not_ give my mother your phone number, though that’s not to say she doesn’t have her own ways of getting what she wants.  Consider this my verbal agreement to make it up to you in the near future.  In the meantime, I was wondering if you could clue me in on what you told them so I’m not shanghaied upon my arrival.”

“I mean, it was only a slight deviation from the truth.”

That wasn’t helpful.  “Which is…”

The other end of the line grew eerily silent until, “Geez, Capulet!  How much did you drink when you got home?  The four beers you had at City Tap House can’t be the only cause of your blackout…though, you definitely are a lightweight.”    

Several pieces of the puzzle came together in that moment.  City Tap House—that’s right!  She remembered going there before.  They had a laundry list of beers on tap, which is probably why Ben convinced her to get something other than wine.  She vaguely remembered liking the beer, too.  Well, if she had four of them, that was proof in itself. 

Visualizing it now, she could see the big screen tv hanging above the bar.   It was the first Phillies game of the season, or whatever, so the place was packed, but they were able to find a spot at the bar which allowed Ben to (attempt to) educate her on the fundamentals of baseball.

_“I don’t get it,” she said, licking the grease off her fingers after munching on a particularly cheesy nacho, “why is there a guy in between 2 nd and 3rd base but not 1st and 2nd?”_

_Ben was all too ready to answer.  “Well, there aren’t as many left-handed batters as there are right-handed ones in the game, so it’s science, actually.  Statistically speaking, right-handed batters will hit the ball in the direction of the shortstop more than anywhere else.  That’s why the shortstop is considered the most demanding defense position in the MLB.”_

_He could’ve said the ball hardly goes there and that would’ve been sufficient enough.  She rested her cheek in her palm.  “Bored now.  Let’s talk about something else.”_

And they did.  They talked about a lot of things, actually, which she supposed help lay the groundwork for this new ‘friends’ phase of their relationship.

What gave Rosaline cause for concern, however, was his question about how much she drank when she got home.  She definitely didn’t remember doing that—except, as soon as the thought entered her brain, there might’ve been an empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc sitting on her kitchen counter this morning.  Four beers at the tap house and then an entire bottle of wine in the solitude of her apartment?  Sure, Rosaline enjoyed the occasional glass (or two), but last night’s binge made her look like a college freshman during rush week. 

Returning to the present, Ros refused to give Ben the satisfaction of answering his question, instead badgering him for more intel to store in her rather barren arsenal.  “Listen, I’m approximately five minutes away from work, so unless you want my parents to think you’re a liar when they cross-examine me on the details of last night and I can’t back up any of your claims, just give me the short version of what you told them!”

“Whoa, let’s not forget that I’m not the one you’re _really_ mad at.”  He paused.  “Although, I guess the whole point of this is that you did, in fact, forget.”

He was really testing her patience.  “Montague…”

“Right.  The short version.  Like I said, what they know is only a slight deviation from the truth.  I told them that I took you out for a few drinks and we were having a great time until a massive fight broke out at the tap house.  And I say fight, but what I really mean is one of those infamous Capulet, Inc./Montague & Co. quarrels.  The authorities got involved and everything.  So, I told your parents that though you weren’t physically harmed during the altercation, you were quite shaken up from being caught in the middle of it and could really use the extra rest.”

How strange that her memory managed to block out something as catastrophic as this.  “Was there really a fight?”

He didn’t answer right away.  “Well…yes…but we weren’t there.  We actually left shortly before it started.”

“A slight deviation, huh?”

“Hey,” he said defensively, “how was I supposed to know that you weren’t going to show up to work this morning and that _I_ would get blamed for it?  It was all I could think to say when your mom started grilling me and, honestly, telling her the truth could’ve derailed this whole relationship scheme we got going on.”

“So, what was the truth, then?”  The moment the words slipped out, she regretted asking him.  In the incumbent silence, it was clear that he was also hesitant to reply.  As Ros pulled into the parking lot of Capulet, Inc., that gnawing feeling returned—the heartbreakingly bad one.  Filling in the gaps in her memory was essential, but did she really need to have _all_ the answers now?  This morning was already full of so many uncertainties and revelations.  She wanted to feel like herself again, but perhaps it was best to work towards that goal at a gradual pace.

“If you think your memory will return,” he started, trying to disguise the apparent consternation in his voice, “then I would honestly wait until that happens.  You might accept it as the truth better if it’s from you and not word of mouth.”

 _Huh_.

Had Ben somehow known, in that moment, that this was exactly what she needed to hear?   He could’ve told her—could’ve ripped the band-aid off, so to speak.  Instead, he took her feelings into consideration and she was grateful for it.  Which was bizarre, because we’re talking about Benvolio Montague here.  When has she ever been grateful for Ben?  Well, apart from his agreement to be in a fake relationship with her in order to merge their fathers’ companies.  Oh, and yesterday’s meeting when she panicked and froze.  Add to that one of the few memories she had of last night, in which he consoled her through an onslaught of tears and…. _oh, crap._

He really is her friend.

A different kind of churning coursed through her now.  Not sadness, but trepidation—tinged with a fluttering she refused to analyze.

“So, I should probably get to work,” she blurted out, needing a swift escape from this conversation before he detected how awkward she suddenly felt. “Thanks for, uh, all your help.  We’ll be in touch.”  She hung up without giving him a chance to reply.

 _We’ll be in touch?  You end business calls that way, Rosaline, not calls with friends._   And that’s what he was, after all, right?  But for some reason (many reasons) the possibilities surrounding this blossoming friendship frightened her, which was why she did the sensible thing and shoved those fears down into the recesses of her mind so she could ignorantly go about her day.

Grabbing two Tylenol from her purse and swallowing them down with half a bottle of water, Rosaline stared at her reflection in the rear-view mirror.  “Time to face the wolves,” she said with a sigh, not an expert at self-motivation techniques.

Rosaline managed to avoid her mother and father as she walked through the doors of Capulet, Inc., and further still as she took the elevator to the seventh floor.  Seeing no one at the end of the hall near her office door ready to pounce, she made a quick detour to the break room for coffee.  The break room was empty.  Unfortunately, so was the coffee pot.  With a heavy heart, Ros retreated, begrudgingly accepting that today’s reconciliation reports would be drafted without caffeine to aid her.

She also barely glanced at yesterday’s reports, which meant there would likely be a mountain of paperwork awaiting her in her office.

What Ros didn’t anticipate, however, was that someone else was waiting for her there—though she was too shocked to be thankful that it wasn’t her mother.

“Escalus?”


	8. Questionable Costs

He was almost unrecognizable. 

Opting out of his standard police uniform—customarily adorned with medals and commendations accumulated over the years—Escalus sat in one of her guest chairs in civilian attire, a ball cap worn low and casting a shadow across his face.  Were it anyone else, she would not know them at first glance, but Escalus wasn’t just anyone else.  He was the one she had been intimate with for nearly two years, a feat that certainly trumped all of her previous relationships.  He was the one she envisioned in her 5-year plan, which included a proposal, eventual marriage, and a 3-bedroom colonial in Newtown Square.  _After_ being promoted as the new CFO of Capulet, Inc., of course.

And though the fog of her memories still shrouded her like a gothic veil, Rosaline came to a stark realization in that very moment—the realization that, after today, Escalus might not be a part of that plan anymore.

Initial shock subsiding, Ros refrained from speaking again until she had secured the door and taken a seat at her desk across from him.  “What are you doing here?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, face still hidden beneath his Eagles hat as he folded his arms across his chest.  “Silvestro didn’t see me come in, so my presence shouldn’t blow your cover.”

He was, of course, referring to their staged break-up though, with the considerable distance that had been placed between them since then, Ros wondered when it was that they stopped acting.  “Then why risk it?  You couldn’t have called?”

“You didn’t respond to my text this morning, so it seemed unlikely you’d answer my call either.”  His words were tinged with malice.  Since it held no ground she knew of, he was likely grasping at straws in some apparent need to vilify her or, at the very least, justify whatever it was _he_ did.

Rosaline clucked her tongue.  “And how exactly am I supposed to respond to ‘we need to talk’?  ‘Can’t wait!’  Or how about ‘what a fantastic idea!’  I’m sorry, Escalus, but no good ever comes from ‘we need to talk’.  Besides, I’m extraordinarily behind in my work so whatever you wish to talk about will have to wait.”

He fidgeted in his chair.  For a cop, Escalus was surprisingly terrible at confrontations; especially now, with Rosaline peering at him in an attempt to ascertain why he was so desperate to hide his face from her.  None of it mattered though because there were more important things for her to focus on than Escalus working up the nerve to break up with her.  That’s where this was heading, right?  She wasn’t as clueless as some might think.

“This can’t wait,” he said defiantly, racking his brain for the right words to say, “because I didn’t get a chance to explain myself last night and it only seems fair that I do so now.”

_Last night?_   Rosaline’s senses heightened, clinging to this revelation that had all but confirmed her theory—sparsely-developed though that theory may be.  Not wanting to seem overeager, she pretended to be suddenly interested in a spreadsheet she picked up from off of her desk.

“You have to understand where I’m coming from in all this,” he continued.  “Sure, we had a plan once this merger went through, and at the time it seemed plausible.  But I didn’t realize what it would actually be like to have to wait on the sidelines and watch you flaunt your relationship with that Montague everywhere you went.”

“That Montague?” she echoed, repulsed by his chosen vernacular.  “My goodness, you sound like Sampson.  I thought as an officer of the law you’re supposed to be fair and impartial on these matters.”

Through the shadows beneath his hat, Ros swore she saw his eyebrows knit together in a glare.  “Yeah, well I thought your relationship with him was supposed to be fake.  Guess we don’t know each other as well as we thought, huh?”

She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of trying to explain herself—in part, because his accusation was downright ridiculous but also because she _did_ know Escalus, and knew that his anger was likely a cover for something else.  She put the document back on her desk and folded her hands in her lap.  “Oh, Escalus.  Don’t tell me you’re suddenly jealous of Ben, because you certainly weren’t before.  In fact, you were a fan of this scheme from the start, all the while knowing how much I loathed him then.”

“But you don’t now, do you?”  There was no malice this time, his words slow and deliberate, bordering on a smugness that Escalus often displayed when he thought he was right.

But that’s what tripped her up—the fact that he _was_ right.  This wasn’t new information.  She had already come to the conclusion that she no longer detested the very sight of Benvolio Montague, but having her boyfriend of two years also recognize that change in her was…well, vexing.

“Look, Ben and I,” she started and then abruptly stopped because how the hell was she supposed to explain their relationship to him?  “As strange as it may seem, we—well, not to say there is a ‘we’—but the two of us were forced to spend a considerable amount of time together and because of that, yes, I’ve grown rather accustomed to his presence.  But that’s it, so stop reading into it!  Everything else you think you see is merely pomp and circumstance.  This is a business deal, Escalus.  Nothing more.”

He huffed indignantly.  “Tell that to him.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on, Rosaline!”  Escalus threw his hands up, allowing his growing indignation to run rampant.  “Don’t tell me you’re that blind to what’s really going on here.”

Her forehead scrunched up in confusion.  “But, as I’ve already said, there’s nothing going—”

“Have you ever asked yourself why Benvolio agreed to this?” he interrupted.  “Everyone knows he doesn’t give a shit about his father’s company and yet he’s been more committed to this phony relationship with you than anything else he’s done his entire life!”

“You’re being absurd,” was, in Rosaline’s opinion, a very natural way to respond to an accusation of that magnitude.

Of course, he didn’t have to know that what first popped in her head was a childhood memory of her mother getting ready for a gala in front of her large vanity mirror, zipping up a dress that had somehow shrunk since the last time she wore it.  “The most convincing lie is the one you tell yourself,” she had said to a twelve-year-old Rosaline with a wink before sucking in and grabbing a satin shawl to disguise the parts of the snug dress she didn’t want seen.  At the time, it was just another one of her mother’s clever little tricks, but the memory’s unexpected reappearance now seemed to play devil’s advocate to her more rational thoughts.

_He’s wrong_ , Rosaline tried to convince herself.  _He doesn’t know Ben like you do_.  And somehow that thought alone wasn’t helping her case.  “Ben’s just playing a part,” she eventually added.  “We both are.”

Fueled on by his desire to prove her wrong, Escalus rose out of his chair and ripped the hat off his head.  “Then, how do you explain this?!”

“Oh my god!” Ros exclaimed, pupils dilated as she took in his battered appearance in this new light.  There were purple contusions from the corner of his left eye to the top of his cheekbone and his eyelid was so swollen he could barely open it.  “What on earth happened?”

“That Montague happened,” came his succinct reply.  Fair and impartial was clearly non-negotiable on this matter. 

Rosaline tore her gaze from his unsightly black eye, shaking her head wildly.  “That’s not possible.  We…we left.  He told me he took me home before the fighting started.”

“What do you mean ‘he told you’?” Escalus asked inquisitively.

Rosaline had decided from the moment she found Escalus in her office that her temporary lapse in memory wasn’t vital information for him to have, so she ignored his question and rephrased herself in the hope that he’d further enlighten her on the matter.  “I only found out about the fight this morning.  I thought it was between a couple of Capulet and Montague employees.” 

“It definitely headed in that direction,” he replied, recalling the encounter not-so-fondly, “but that’s not how it started.  I’m assuming Mr. Big Shot didn’t tell you that after you guys left, he stormed back in 30 minutes later.”  Her silence confirmed as much. “You know, he actually had the gall to try and lecture me about decency, which was surprising—coming from him.  Mouthing off to a deputy commissioner is one thing, but slugging me in the face is a criminal offense and If I had my way he’d be in jail right now.” 

This new intel really threw her for a loop.  Why had Ben neglected to tell her this part?  Was he only telling her what she needed to know to get through the work day?  Or was there more to this story than either of them were telling her?  “So why isn’t he?  In jail, that is.”

“By the time Capulet, Inc. and Montague and Co. employees joined in—using our disagreement as an excuse to reignite the feud and turn the tap house into a scene from _Roadhouse_ —I guess the commissioner just didn’t have the patience to deal with it anymore.  So, he did his best to sweep it all under the rug by buying out the media to downgrade the severity of the brawl and only giving Ben a slap on the wrist for instigating it before sending him on his merry way.  Meanwhile, I’m on temporary suspension, so you’ll forgive me if Benvolio Montague is at the top of my shit list.”

His attire made sense now.  Rosaline had half a mind to feel sorry for Escalus, if what he said was true and Ben was the one that started the fight.  But there was a part of his story that still needed clarification.  “I don’t understand.  Why did he hit you in the first place?”

Escalus shoved his hat back on, shifting in his seat once more.  “How the hell should I know?  He probably thought he was acting as your knight in shining armor or something.”  The expression on his face changed, an indication that he had clearly said more than he wished to.

“Because I need protecting?” Ros prompted, to which he merely shrugged before picking at a loose thread on the arm of his chair.  “Tell me, Escalus.  Why do you think he was he protecting me from you?”

He looked up, giving her a hard stare that bore traces of guilt.  “You know why.”

And suddenly, as if a light bulb flicked on overhead, Rosaline did. 

They were friends, after all.  Ben confirmed that much.  By definition, friends have your back when you need them most, like when you freeze in the middle of an important business meeting…or when you spot your boyfriend at a bar getting cozy with another woman.  Boyfriend was perhaps a poor word choice, but Rosaline didn’t know what Escalus was to her anymore.  Still, his stunned expression as he recognized her from across the bar made it apparent to all parties involved that he was caught doing something he shouldn’t.  They had a plan—and now that plan would never be realized.

Rosaline recalled the overwhelming swell of emotions she felt in that moment—the blinding fury, the stinging remorse, and the sincere belief that no amount of alcohol could make her numb to it all (try as she might).  It was a bitter pill to swallow, even now, that the man before her had somehow decided that Rosaline Capulet was not a woman worth waiting for.

And yet…

Her reaction to the encounter last night was, oddly enough, in stark contrast to how she felt about it now.  With her memories slowly returning, the wound was fresh but not agonizing.  More than anything, Escalus’s actions had wounded her pride and in the harsh light of day—without the aid of alcohol affecting her mental state—Rosaline had somehow come to terms with the fact that Escalus would never be a part of her life again the way he was before.  Not only had she come to terms with it, but it was also…okay.

The room was silent for what felt like an eternity but what was probably only a handful of minutes.  Though the tension in the room could be felt, there was an odd contentment in the way they both sat in companionable silence, each carefully calculating their next move.  Rosaline found her voice first, deciding it was time to come clean with him—but, more importantly, herself.  “I shouldn’t have confronted you last night, spoiling your dinner date like that.  I should’ve just let it be and that could’ve been our silent agreement to move on with our lives.  We’d be lying if neither one of us admitted that we’ve been drifting apart for some time now.”

Physically saying the words out loud felt like a giant weight had been lifted from Ros’s shoulders—a weight that she immediately felt the absence of, like a phantom limb, but that also had her breathing a sigh of relief upon its removal.

“A part of me still loves you, you know,” he said, leaning forward in an attempt to capture her gaze.  She wasn’t ready for that though.  Knowing that they were saying goodbye was hard enough.  “I probably always will.”

“In another life, I suppose,” Ros added, a far-off look in her eyes as she wondered what they could’ve done differently to make their relationship last.  Who knows?  Perhaps it was just never meant to be. 

Escalus took that as his cue to leave, rising from his chair and stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans.  “I’ll let you get back to work.  I’m glad we got to…clear the air, so to speak.”

Her eyes briefly met his as she nodded.  “Me too.”  And the thing is, she really meant it.  This wasn’t the sort of conversation she thought she’d be having before noon on a Friday (and without a drop of caffeine in her system, nonetheless), but it was certainly a conversation worth having.  They both knew where this relationship was heading and, at the end of the day, it was a small comfort to be able to end things civilly.

He made it all the way to the door—Ros wasting no time opening an Excel spreadsheet to begin listing all of Capulet, Inc.’s reconciled withdrawals for the month of March—when he suddenly stopped and wheeled back around.  “So, um, you’re probably going to say that it’s not my place anymore,” he started, fretfully rocking on the balls of his feet, “but this thing with Benvolio…”

She wasn’t sure if he meant to leave it open-ended or if he was just struggling to put his thoughts into words.  Regardless, her patience on the matter was waning so it was best to just drop the subject completely.  “I don’t want to hear it, Escalus, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear my broken record mantra about how there is nothing going on between me and Ben.  Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

“I just really don’t trust the guy, that’s all.” 

All things considered, Escalus had every right not to trust Ben.  He’d likely hold a grudge against Ben for giving him a black eye and then getting him suspended for at least another week, but their beef had nothing to do with Rosaline.  Well, okay, it did, but not so as to cause Rosaline to distrust him as well.  If anything, she trusted him more now, knowing how willing he was to stick up for her unprompted.

“Listen,” he continued, “if you don’t actually have feelings for him, great, but if you happen to amend your opinion of him anytime soon, just remember to keep your wits about you.  You know his history with women, Ros.  Don’t expect him to change just because he’s good at pretending to be in a long-term relationship.”

Rosaline sighed.  “Thanks for the advice, irrelevant as it may be, but I really do need to get back to work.  Goodbye, Escalus.”  She was, perhaps, a little more abrupt than she wanted to be, but she wasn’t sure how else to tell him that there was nothing going on between her and Benvolio.

Because there wasn’t…right?


	9. Opportunity Analysis

Work did not come without interruption, much to Rosaline’s dismay.  Shortly after Escalus left, her father stopped by, considerably more understanding about her tardiness than she thought he’d be.  The handiwork of Ben, she supposed.  Silvestro then surprised her further by handing over his notes on her merger proposal.  Though still rather insistent that the plan was unlikely to work, he promised to be in attendance should she find a way to schedule a meeting with both Damiano and Isabella.

This should’ve given Ros the boost she needed to get through the rest of the day, but before her father left, he warned her that he couldn’t hold off her mother much longer and to expect her arrival shortly.  So, for the next 45 minutes, Rosaline was on edge until the woman in question appeared, up in arms about the scandal that might’ve resulted from her own daughter’s proximity to last night’s tavern brawl.  Ros merely nodded, adding in the occasional “yes, Mother” and “of course, Mother” like the dutiful daughter she was.

By the time her fourth uninvited guest arrived, Rosaline’s patience was running on fumes.  “For the love of god,” she shouted upon hearing a light rapping on her door, “leave me alone!”

“I think you might amend that statement,” came a voice from the other side of the wooden barrier, “once you hear that I come bearing gifts.”

Rosaline stopped typing and perked up—not, of course, because it was Benvolio but because she could smell the faint, tantalizing aroma of coffee.  “Fine, but it better be worth it,” she mused.

Sure enough, as Ben opened the door, his other hand was balancing a brown paper bag on top of a drink carrier with four to-go cups.  Ros barely had time to question why there were four before he set the items on her desk and launched into an explanation.  “You know, that questionnaire thing you had us fill out and memorize a few weeks ago didn’t mention anything about coffee orders.  I double checked it this morning since, I’m not gonna lie, I don’t have it memorized yet.  So, having no inclination as to how you like your coffee, I had the barista make me four of their top-selling drinks.”

Wait…these were _all_ for her?  In a moment of rarity, Ros found herself speechless in Ben’s presence.

“Alright, starting from the top and going clockwise,” he began to rattle off studiously. “Here, you’ve got your standard cappuccino, and then something called a Salted Caramel Mocha Swirl—which sounds disgusting, but…to each his own.  The third one’s just a black coffee—French roast, to be specific, and I did grab some cream and sugar, just in case—and your final option is, I am told, the number one order of workaholics across the metropolitan area: The Red Eye.  To use a terrible pun, I should warn you that this drink is not for the faint of heart as it has been known to cause heart palpitations.  It was not easy to get either.  I practically had to show them my medical history to prove that I don’t have any pre-existing conditions.”

Under any other circumstance, she might’ve laughed at that—or, at the very least, rolled her eyes at his theatrical antics.  However, the past 24 hours had been…well, illuminating. 

Ros stared, as if in a trance, at the coffee cups before her, thinking long and hard about all that recently transpired.  She thought about the events at City Tap House—the ones she was there for (the beer, the bonding, the concern on Ben’s face when he took her home) and the ones she wasn’t (Ben’s return, his left hook connecting with Escalus’ face, an all-out brawl ensuing from it).  She also thought about how irresponsible she behaved last night and how grateful she was to have Ben cover for her.

Rosaline’s thoughts began to drift further, to that kiss in the elevator.  It was supposed to be a ploy, she had previously told herself, an act that was merely meant to rile her mother.  It _wasn’t_ supposed to be reminiscent of another kiss that she had spent the better part of her twenties repressing.

Because, in all honestly, she didn’t want to remember that rooftop party she went to her sophomore year of college, surrounded by people she hardly knew, drinking cheap beer out of red solo cups.  She didn’t want to remember the boy she was supposed to hate who was suddenly sweet and funny and caused an unconventional fluttering in the pit of her stomach when he looked into her eyes.  And she definitely didn’t want to remember that kiss, which was soft and warm and had her questioning whether the fireworks shooting off in the distance were real or in her head. 

She didn’t want to remember any of this because of what happened the very next morning.  The boy on the rooftop confused her then and the man standing before her confused her still.  Even if Benvolio Montague did have feelings for her now, if everything Escalus said was true, Rosaline knew that there was still the potential for him to be hot one minute and then completely cold the next.    

She didn’t know what to believe anymore, and publicly pretending to be in love for the last few months certainly wasn’t helping things either.

“Thank you, Ben,” she finally said, reaching for the cup of coffee on the bottom left side of the carrier.  “That was very thoughtful.”

Her words sounded robotic and Ben easily detected as much.  “I’m gonna be honest, that was not the reaction I expected, but I’ll chock it up to low blood sugar and dehydration.  So, drink up!  You’ll need to regain your strength for round two tonight!”  She harnessed what strength she had to glare at him.  “I’m kidding, of course.”

“So, what’s in the paper bag?” Ros asked before taking a tentative sip of her coffee…something she regretted instantly.  “Uck!  This tastes like something a 10-year-old made.”

“Oops!”  Thinking quickly, he grabbed the cup she was holding and switched it out for another one.  “I think I got the French roast and the mocha caramel thing mixed up.  You should be good now.  And to answer your question, _that_ ”—he gestured to the paper bag—“is lunch.  I figured you’d be too busy catching up on work to eat so I got you a turkey sub on wheat from The Verona—which, I noticed, _was_ on that questionnaire thing.”

Okay.  First coffee…now lunch?  Rosaline let out a low groan.  Between the hangover and Ben’s sickeningly sweet behavior, the bile in her stomach was slowing rising to the surface and there was not much she could do to stifle it.  Attempting another sip of coffee, she was content this time with the end result. 

“I talked to Escalus,” she blurted out unceremoniously, which was probably not the best time to have this conversation, but it was too late to take it back.

“Oh, really?” Ben replied, pupils instantly dilating.  He tried to disguise his discomfort by casually scratching the underside of his neck, but it didn’t work on Ros.  She was already starting to recognize his tells, the ‘nervous neck scratch’ being one of them.  It was then she began to realize that Ben did not want her to know about his encounter with Escalus. 

“Um, yeah, he called me,” she quickly lied, deciding to keep her intel a secret for now, “and as soon as he started talking I remembered seeing him with that girl last night.”

Ben slid into one of the available chairs all the while keeping his eyes glued on Rosaline, as if trying to gage her reaction to this news.  “I’m sorry, Ros.  I’m sorry you had to relive that.”

Needing to escape the intensity of his gaze, Ros looked down at her coffee cup, nails idly picking at the edges of the lid to divert her nervous attentions.  “Actually, I wasn’t that angry this time around.  I mean, we talked and exchanged a few harsh words but, for the most part, we both kind of agreed to make our break-up a permanent one.”

“And you’re okay with that?” he asked.

The curious lilt in his voice beckoned her to look back up at him.  “Honestly?” she started, internally marveling at the flecks of blue and green in his eyes that she hardly took notice of before.  “Yeah.  I really am.”

His curiosity didn’t stop there.  “And, uh, did Escalus say anything else?  You know, about last night?”

So, her previous assumption was accurate.  Ben didn’t want her to know about the fight.  Ros briefly wondered why but knew that only he had the answer to that question.  And so, for now, if it was even the smallest of comforts for him to think she didn’t know, so be it.  It was, after all, the least she could do.

“Not that I can recall,” she finally said.

His shoulders visibly relaxed.  “Well, if that’s all, I should probably go before you start yelling at me to leave you alone again.  It’s time for me to face my demons anyway—and by demons, of course, I mean my father.”

Rosaline’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh!  So, you’re talking to him today?  About the merger?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug, “but let’s not hold our breath on the outcome of this one.  It may take several attempts and a few promises I won’t want to keep in order to get him on board.”

“Well, if it helps, I saw my father today and he seemed very intrigued to potentially sit down with him and Isabella.  Perhaps knowing that Capulet, Inc. has already agreed to it will make him a bit more receptive.”

Ben obviously knew his father better than she did, the look on his face communicating that he wasn’t so sure that would be the case.  “Or perhaps he’ll think your father is simply after his money.  He pretty much always thinks people are after his money.”  As a last-ditch effort, Ben snatched up one of the remaining drinks on the table.  “It won’t hurt to bring a peace offering though.  Well, have fun crunching numbers.  I’ll call you later.”

He said it so naturally— _I’ll call you later_ —as if it was already a habit for them to talk to each other on a regular basis.  In essence, it was.

“Hey,” she said, determined to stop him before he made it out the door.  “Thanks again…for everything.  I mean, definitely for the coffee, and the sandwich, but also for—”

She was about to say, ‘last night’, but that might have him inquiring what about last night she was thanking him for and now was not the time to get into the nitty-gritty details.

“Your unwavering involvement,” she continued, “in this whole merger thing.  I mean, I’m sure you have better things you could be doing with your time and I just wanted to say that I appreciate how steadfast you’ve been in this venture.  God, it sounds like I’m talking about a business deal, which it kind of is, but…you know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

Ben nodded imperceptibly, all the while staring at Ros as a peculiar thought began to form in his head.  “Would you like to see?”

Befuddled by his redirection, Ros took the bait nonetheless.  “See what?”

“What I would be doing with my time instead.”

To anyone else, Ben’s words might’ve come off as crass, but Ros immediately knew what he meant.  His hobby.  Ben wanted to show her what his hobby was.  After months of attempting to crack this safe, here he was, handing her the password.  “Um, sure.  When?”

“Well, I know you have your Teamwork and Leadership lecture tonight, so how about tomorrow night?”  She nodded, in a daze.  “Great!  Meet me at 12th and Chestnut tomorrow at 7pm.  We’ll get dinner too so wear something nice.  I’d advise against heels though.  We’ve got a few sets of stairs to climb once we get there.”

Rosaline furrowed her brow.  “Just to clarify, I’m not getting murdered tomorrow night, right?”

“Of course not,” he replied without hesitation, always at ease with their more flippant conversations than the heartfelt ones.  “You’re too valuable of a commodity to kill.  At best, you’d be held for ransom.  Alright, I really do have to go now.  I’ll see you tomorrow.  12th and Chestnut.  Don’t forget.”

She would, in fact, forget, having to text Ben the following the day to give her the cross streets once more.  The truth was that Ros was too distracted to remember—distracted by the coffee, and the sandwich, and the fact that he remembered which lecture she had on Friday nights.  She smiled as she realized that Ben never needed the questionnaire to begin with.  He paid attention.

 

\----

 

“I still can’t believe you had two men fighting for you like a scene out of a movie,” Livia mused, sitting on Rosaline’s bed while the woman in question brought out a dress from her closet to showcase.  “No, that color’s dull.  It washes you out.”

Ros retreated to her closet in search of another one.  “I think you’re dramatizing the situation a bit, Liv.  They weren’t fighting _for_ me.  Escalus had clearly moved on at that point and Ben…well, Ben is a little more on the enigmatic side, but I’m sure he just did it as part of his moral code or something.”

She came back out holding a black number with an empire waist cut.

Livia shook her head.  “This isn’t a funeral, Ros.  It’s a date.  Show me something with a little color; something vibrant that will make your eyes pop.”

“It’s not a date,” Ros proclaimed, rolling her eyes at having to reiterate this fact for probably the fifth time now before heading back into her closet.  “We’re just friends, which—I know—is also weird to think about, but it’s true.  People have misjudged him his whole life, myself included.  With everything he went through after his mom passed away and constantly having to be in the spotlight…I mean, it can’t be easy opening up to someone.  That’s the only reason why I’ve agreed to meet him tonight, because I’m glad that he feels comfortable sharing this with me, and I want to be there for him since he continues to be there for me, and, god damnit, I’m desperate to know what this ridiculous hobby is!”

Though she put up a good front, Ros wasn’t fooling anyone—least of all, her baby sister.

“Nope, it’s definitely a date,” Livia countered.  “I’ve seen a change in you two recently.  You both have total heart eyes for each other and it’s impossibly adorable.”

Ros popped her head out, directing a pointed glare at her sister.  “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.  And why are you suddenly gung ho about me being with Ben anyway?  Weren’t you the one last week telling me to be careful and how you didn’t want to see me get hurt?”

“Yes, but that was before the events of City Tap House—which will probably become more infamous than the cocktail party fiasco of 2014.”  Livia looked down a moment, contemplatively quiet and likely weighing the many differences between the two events.  Ros returned to the task at hand: searching for a dress for tonight’s ‘not date’ with Ben.  “I just never thought that Escalus would be the one to hurt you, you know?  And I certainly never thought Ben would be the one trying to pick up the pieces—but regardless of what I used to think, I am 100% on Team Rosvolio now.  He honestly proved himself worthy in my eyes the moment you told me about all those coffees he brought you.  Don’t you see, Ros?  He’s just trying to make you happy!”

The problem was that Rosaline didn’t _want_ to see—at least, she wasn’t ready to.  Barely two days ago they decided to be friends, so to consider what else they could be was simply too much too soon.  At any rate, Livia didn’t know the whole story, because Ros never told her about the roof top party from her sophomore year.  She never told anyone for that matter, in hopes that the unspoken memory would eventually fade away into obscurity.

Seeing the man nearly every day made it highly unlikely that would ever happen.

“Okay,” Ros said, using the next dress she presented Livia as a distraction from their current conversation, “I’ve been holding out on this one because I personally think it’s too extravagant, but you’ll probably love it, so let’s just get this over with.”

Livia’s eyes lit up as she gave the dress a once-over.  “Yes!  It’s perfect!  And I bet you can even pair it with a cardigan and sandals to dress it down a bit.”  She sighed dreamily, like the hopeless (well, not so hopeless, she’s getting married after all) romantic she was.  “Purple is definitely your color.”

Rosaline scrunched up her forehead.  “I thought you said that blue was my color.”

“Well, they both are!” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.  “Okay, now that we’ve established what you’re wearing, come sit at your dresser so I can do your hair.”  An hour of curling her hair amidst idle chit-chat later, Livia decided to broach a topic of conversation that she had been anxiously sitting on all afternoon.  “So, now that you’re all prepped for tonight, I was wondering if I could talk to you about an idea I had and if, um, you would be willing to do this teeny, tiny favor for me?”

Rosaline looked at her sister through the mirror, the deadpan expression she gave her speaking volumes.  “An idea?  Is this one going to be just as hairbrained as your scheme to unite the two feuding powerhouses?”

At the time, it seemed like a funny enough joke, but as Livia began nervously chewing on her bottom lip, Ros could tell that she was in no joking mood.  “I don’t ask you for many favors, Ros, but this one’s really important to me.”

Needing no further prompting from her sister, Rosaline turned around and grabbed Livia’s hands, regarding her with all the sincerity she could muster.  “You know you’re not just my flesh and blood, Liv. You’re my best friend, and as such I would gladly walk through fire for you.  So, what is this teeny-tiny favor you require of me?”

 

\---

 

“Eloping?!” Ben exclaimed, as he and Rosaline climbed the third flight of stairs in a rundown brick building not too far from city hall.  She was keenly aware that an additional four flights remained.  “That’s crazy, _and_ really badass, _and_ so unlike your sister.  Are the Kill Bill sirens going off in your parents’ heads right about now?”

“Oh, that’s the kicker,” she replied, her expressive eyes unable to mask the astonishment she was still reeling from.  “They don’t know!  Livia and Paris don’t plan on telling either of their parents, or anyone else for that matter, until after the deed has been done.  The only reason she gave me permission to tell you is because…well, they need witnesses.”

Ben laughed outright.  “A secret elopement that we get to take part in?  Well, you can tell them both to definitely count me in, but more importantly, I demand to be present the moment your mother reads about it in the paper the next morning.”

Rosaline shook her head.  “Well, _I_ certainly don’t want to be in attendance for that.”

“Why?” Ben asked.  “This is actually good for you.  Even if it’s only temporary, this news is gonna piss her off more than anything else you’ve done previously—and that includes getting together with the son of your father’s greatest enemy.  You get to be the good daughter for once.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she mused, wondering how long she’d be able to hold that title.   They still had two flights to go and the apparent strain on her lungs made her question why she ever cancelled her gym membership.  “Is there a reason why this building doesn’t have an elevator?”

“Actually, there’s a lift on the other side, but it’s been broken for six months now.  I think the landlord’s too cheap to get it fixed.  You get used to it after a while.” 

That wasn’t likely.  It did, however, paint a very different picture of the Benvolio Montague she thought she knew.   Commonly portrayed as the billionaire playboy who drives a Maserati and essentially gets whatever he wants, Ros assumed that not many people got to see how much he seemed at home in this moldy back stairwell of a tiny commercial building. 

 _One more flight_ , Ros reminded herself encouragingly.  She had to give herself a pep talk in order to make it up those last few steps, halting all conversation with Ben to conserve her oxygen. 

The moment they made it safely onto the 7th floor, Ros breathed a small sigh of relief.  Ben led her down a long hall with very few doors, finally stopping in front of one marked ‘RMB Graphic Solutions’.  He turned around to brief her before opening the door.  “I should warn you that we don’t often do tours like this.  The main workspace is probably a disaster, but I had Balthasar dress up the showroom a bit, so I’m really hoping he did a commendable job.”

As Ben opened the door, Ros was instantly greeted by what appeared to be a dimly lit and rather empty room.  It had dark, hardwood flooring with white-painted brick walls; and upon closer inspection, Ros discovered that this room wasn’t empty at all.  On the wall to the left housed six or seven framed photos, each given its own spotlight.  Ros stepped further into the room to get a better look at the artwork, noticing that they were all computer graphic images. 

She read the description on the placard under the first graphic of a geometrically-constructed lion in hues of yellow, orange and red.  _Designed for the Red Lion Tavern in March of 2016._ As Ros read the second placard for an image of an open book with brightly-colored party streamers shooting out of it—for an event planning company called The Imagination Center—she began to wonder exactly why Ben brought her here tonight.

She didn’t have to wonder long.

“The Imagination Center was actually our most recent client,” Ben said upon noticing the one she was inspecting.  “They were referred by Dottie’s Donuts, who was actually our very first client.”  He walked over to another framed picture, the word ‘Dottie’s’ in frilly cursive with a pink sprinkled donut in place of the ‘o’.

Ros stared at the image for a long time before she turned to look at him, brows furrowed in utter bewilderment.  “Wait.  Did you just say ‘our’?  Ben, is this _your_ company?”

He shrugged bashfully.  “Well, not just me.  It’s a collaborative effort, really, between myself and my friends: Romeo, Mercutio, and Balthasar.  We all took this graphic design class in college and our ideas meshed together so perfectly that after graduation we kind of just went with it.”

An unexpected sense of pride began to bloom in Rosaline’s chest.  “Ben, this…this is extraordinary!  Why haven’t you told anyone about this before?”

“Well,” he started, scratching the back of his neck, “because, technically, I’m not at liberty to dip my toes into other ventures that won’t aid in the growth and expansion of Montague and Co.”

It wasn’t hard to decipher that those were his father’s words, and though the shrewd businesswoman in her understood Damiano’s rationale, another part of her felt only sorrow for her friend.  She thought back to the company sign on the front door.  “RMB Graphic Solutions.  Romeo, Mercutio and Balthasar, right?”  He nodded.  “So, all this time, you’ve only been able to act as a silent partner?”

“In essence,” he said with a resigned shrug, “but it’s not as bad as it sounds.  I mean, I’m the heir to a multi-million-dollar manufacturing company.  I don’t really need any more recognition.  All, I needed was to find something to look forward to every morning when I woke up.  So, I take what I can get: dutifully attending the occasional board meeting at Montague and Co. so I can moonlight here, transforming Romeo’s ideas into eye-catching images that our clients will want to market.”

“Transforming Romeo’s ideas?” Ros repeated, blinking so rapidly as she processed this information that she probably looked like she was on the verge of a mental breakdown.  “I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me _you’re_ the one that actually created all these graphics?”

Clearly using it as an excuse to look away from her, Ben pretended that the framed photo in front of him needed straightening.  “Like I said, it’s really a collaborative effort.  None of this would’ve happened without them.  I just happen to know my way around computer graphics software a little better than the others.  That’s all.”

Ros couldn’t help but take advantage of this opportunity she was given—observing Ben in his natural state.  There were no cameras to smile for, no business moguls to impress, and, most importantly, no standards for him to live up to.  Seeing the raw vulnerability on his face as he inspected the work he had done to these business logos was honestly refreshing.  No longer did she see him as the arrogant playboy he tried so hard to paint himself as.  Ben was only human, after all.  He had his own insecurities, just like Rosaline did. 

She would store that knowledge away as one of the many things she loved abou—no, LIKED about him.

Needing a reprieve from her thoughts, Ros turned her gaze to the photo Ben was looking at.  “You’re very talented, Ben.  If I were your father, I’d be so proud of what you accomplished.  I’m not saying it’d be easy, but if this is really what you want to do, you should tell him.  In time, he might understand.”

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ben’s shoulders rise and fall as he took in a large lungful of air.  “If we were talking about _your_ father, perhaps.  It only took one interaction with him for me to realize that your father would do anything for his daughters.  I’m afraid Damiano Montague’s true child, though, is his company.  Making sure the family name stays within the hallowed halls of that building comes before everything else.”

It broke her heart to hear him talk this way.  “You can’t really believe that,” she said, turning to him so he could feel the full extent of her sincerity.  “If only he could see—see what you’re truly capable of, then maybe—”

“Rosaline,” he interjected, meeting her gaze and placing his hands on her shoulders to steady her frantic ministrations.  It was oddly comforting, reminiscent of his actions shortly before they went into that meeting earlier this week.  “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I honestly don’t want to talk about my father anymore if that’s okay with you.  Regardless of whether this design studio is in my future, at least I get to do what I love for now, and, with that being said, I’m really glad I got to share it with you tonight.”

Ros bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a smile.  “I’m glad you did too.”

“So, now that we’re both in agreement on that,” he said, removing his hands from her shoulders and balling them into fists at his sides, “How do you feel about Mediterranean food?”

Ben was all too eager to segue out of that conversation, so Ros did her best to comply.  “I love it.”

“Great!  I made a reservation at Zahav so we should probably leave now if we want to make it on time.”

“On one condition,” Ros felt inclined to add, smirking mischievously.  “When we get to the restaurant, I want to hear more about this famous RMB Graphic Solutions company.  Start from the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”

His returning smile was luminous.  “As you wish.”


	10. Perceived Risks

With the start of May, Rosaline and Benvolio found themselves spending less time in each other’s company than they had since mid-February, since before they were forced to inexplicably entwine their lives together.  Without even knowing it, Ben’s presence became customary, her eyes seeking him out with every person that walked through her office door.  So, when an entire week passed without so much as a glimpse of that cocky grin, something peculiar happened: Ros…felt something.  Precisely what that feeling was, she couldn’t rightly say, except that it was utterly unprofessional and highly objectionable and akin to what she assumed it was like to have a phantom limb.  It was a feeling that had her dissecting every song that proclaimed _you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone_ , desperate for answers that her own rational brain couldn’t give her.

And for the briefest of moments, Ros found herself enslaved by fear, wondering if this inscrutable man was distancing himself for a reason.  In hindsight, that evening at his studio had all the trappings of a date—the guarded confessions, the candlelit dinner, the instinctive way she leaned into Ben every time he made her laugh or smile.  Later reflecting on these overly friendly interactions, Ros couldn’t help but question if this was his intention all along—if he truly meant to unburden his soul to her that night—or if he was just as terrified of this new stage in their relationship as she was.

She wouldn’t blame him, of course.  There were things to consider, like what they meant to each other and what _that_ meant for the future—theirs as well as their fathers’ respective companies.

But Ben was quick to demolish those fears in a series of texts that explained his plan to gain Damiano’s support of the merger.   **He deflects every time I try to give him your portfolio** , he typed.  **I’m pretty sure he already knows what I’m going to say, which means he’s making me work for it by getting me to do his bidding within the company.**

 **Sounds exhausting** , she sympathized, placing a frowning emoticon at the end—which, honestly, went against everything she stood for.

 **Sounds like my father** , he countered.  **It’s the same manipulation technique he’s used on me for years.  Don’t worry, though.  I’ll get him to concede…eventually.**

So, he had a plan—an agonizingly slow one, but a plan, nonetheless.  This was all the assurance Ros needed to jump back into her own life with a newfound vigor, hopeful of their companies’ ensuing success and relieved there was no need for her to revisit the unexpected actuality of being ‘enslaved by fear’ over Ben’s marked absence in her life.

Fortunately, it was easy to stay busy and, more importantly, distracted.  There were accounts to be balanced and funds to be transferred, Capulet Inc.’s finances holding on by the skin of it’s teeth.  They were running on fumes since foregoing the layoffs, fumes that could get them through (maybe) another month until (hopefully) relief could be found through a highly-lucrative investor (fingers crossed as to who…).

Her finals were fast approaching as well, the dream of nailing an MBA certificate to her wall so close she could almost taste it.  Finals meant studying and studying left no time to dwell on the lack of dinner dates and public appearances accompanied by a certain charismatic brunette.

Ros wasn’t the only one to notice his absence, however.  Initially attempting a lackadaisical approach, Silvestro peaked into her office a handful of times to casually inquire after Benvolio’s whereabouts until, by week two, he could no longer disguise his candor, fretful as to whether there was “trouble in paradise for the happy couple.”

“I appreciate your concern,” she replied through gritted teeth, wondering if his concern had less to do with the merger and more to do with potentially losing his new golf partner.  “However, I can assure you, father, that it is entirely misplaced.  Ben and I are still together and still very much in love.”

Ros wouldn’t realize until much later that evening her candid use of the word _love_.  Aside from the tabloids’ proclamation that they were _star-crossed lovers_ and Ben’s _beloved_ pet-name for her, this was the first time anyone had used the words _in love_ to describe the scope of their relationship—and it was Rosaline, of all people!  Three months ago, the very notion might’ve triggered her gag reflex, and yet it seemed to just roll off the tongue when she admitted as much to her father.

Of course, this did not imply that Ros had actually fallen in love with this man so quickly.  She liked Ben, sure.  After all, he was charming and caring and astonishingly ambitious—all admirable qualities that she sought in a significant other.  And, alright, that hair of his was a bit diverting, the way his reddish-brown locks could look perfectly quaffed one day and entirely unkempt the next.  The way her hands involuntarily flexed at her sides as she imagined what would happen if she casually ran her fingers through that wild mane of his…how pliant it would become at her touch…how dark his gaze would turn in response, leaning forward with excruciating deliberation so he could—

Her hand flung out reflexively, knocking over the mesh pen cup on her desk and spilling its contents.  Biting her lip, she attempted to put everything back in order, occasionally stealing glances at her door to ensure that no one had witnessed the embarrassing display. 

Since their inception a month ago, Rosaline’s fantasies about her fictitious boyfriend had gotten progressively worse.  She decidedly kept that fact from her sister this time, not wanting a repeat of their last conversation on the matter.  Livia had more important things to worry about, anyway, like planning the elopement that was sure to bring about a catastrophic discord within the Capulet household.  Once the marriage license was procured and a court date was set (“May 26th, my darling sister, so don’t forget that you and Ben promised to be there!”), Ros had pretty much given up trying to talk her out of it.

And so, Rosaline was left to dwell on her ridiculous fantasies alone—fantasies that did not denote significant attachment, of course, because it had only been three months.  After all, Escalus was in her life for two years and she still couldn’t say with certainty if she was ever in love with him.

 _Perhaps you never quite got over the boy who broke your heart in college_ , the dark, contemptuous part of her brain tried to reason.  Except it wasn’t reason that gave these thoughts a voice.  It was foolishness and a no-longer-dormant need to justify what went wrong between them all those years ago.

She hadn’t thought about that night for so long, willing to block it out and label it an honest mistake made by a naïve, foolhardy girl.  But ever since Ben was surreptitiously thrust back into her life, it had been playing on loop in her head.  Ros subconsciously began to pick the memory apart—piece by piece, brick by brick—in search of something, _anything_ , that she might have previously missed.  Was it something she said?  Had she simply read the signs wrong from the beginning?

These were the questions running through her mind when the phone in her office rang on a particularly overcast Thursday afternoon.  “Accounting department.  This is Rosaline speaking.”

“Oh good!” the voice on the other end resounded, distinctly feminine and much too chipper for Ros’ liking.  “I’m so glad I called the right number!  My name’s Helena and I’m calling on behalf of Isabella Cosimo.”

Her pen cup was taking far more abuse today than it probably deserved, her agitated reflexes wreaking havoc once more.  In Rosaline’s defense, she was not expecting to be contacted by Isabella’s people this early in the game and, therefore, felt that the look of sheer panic on her face was rather justified, heart stammering against her chest as she waited for her mouth to catch up to her brain.

 _I’m not ready for this._ We’re _not ready for this._

“Hello?” the woman beckoned, more inclined to believe that the line got disconnected than for Rosaline to suddenly lose her power of speech.

“Sorry,” Ros voiced amidst her recovery.  “Yes, I’m still here.  How can I be of service, Helena?”

“Well, as you may already be aware, Ms. Cosimo has expressed great interest in the rumors surrounding the imminent alliance between Montague and Co. and Capulet, Inc.  As the heir to the latter, if you, Rosaline Capulet, are at liberty to confirm these rumors with me now, then I would be obliged to set up an informal meeting for Ms. Cosimo to discuss what _she_ can bring to that alliance.”

It was no small secret what that would be.

 _It’s okay_ , Ros thought, attempting to placate herself.  _More than okay—this is what you wanted to happen!_   _This is what you fought to achieve all these long, arduous months!_   She wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass them by.  “Of course!  I mean, nothing formal has been quoted for the media circuits yet, for logistical reasons, but I would hazard to say that ‘imminent’ is a very appropriate word choice.”

Lying to procure investments?  _Come on, Ros, you’re better than that._ Was she though?  Ros had more access to Capulet, Inc.’s financial records than anyone else, having already witnessed the downward spiral they were heading in.  The numbers didn’t lie, but—with desperate times and all that—she rationalized that maybe it’d be worth it if she did.

“That’s fantastic news,” Helena responded cheerfully, lacking the typical shrewdness that most of her business constituents possessed, though never undercutting her intent.  “It looks like Ms. Cosimo just recently had a slot open up in her calendar.  How does Monday at 10am sound?  This probably goes without saying, but both CEOs should also be present for this meeting.”

Monday?  As in _this coming_ Monday?  As in _not_ the Monday a few weeks from now that would have exponentially better luck at getting these two aging foes to remain civil toward one another during a lucrative business meeting?

The thing is, the odds were stacked very high against that happening in such a short span of time, but similar odds were also placed on the probability of getting another meeting with Isabella anytime soon.

“Ms. Capulet?” Helena prompted.

Oh…right.  She was waiting on Rosaline’s answer.

Channeling the small shard of instinct she possessed—which she would undoubtedly be required to use in the event of her promotion—Ros acted impulsively, deciding to deal with the very real consequences of those actions later.  “Monday at 10am sounds perfect.  The Capulets and Montagues will both be there.”

“Great!  I’ll email you the details.  On behalf of Ms. Cosimo, we look forward to doing business with you.”

The call barely ended before Ros was using her free hand to sift through her purse to locate her cellphone.

 **911!** she texted, thinking this was the surest way to get his immediate attention.

It only took him about 30 seconds to respond.  “I hope,” Ben started, torn between expressing mild apprehension while recognizing her penchant for hyperbole, “that if this is, _indeed_ , a medical emergency, you had the foresight to actually dial 911.”

“It’s not a medical emergency,” Ros replied swiftly, though she wasn’t sure who needed more convincing of that fact: Ben or herself.  The tremors in her hands returning, she carefully leaned back against her leather office chair, hoping to appease the erratic rise and fall of her chest.   “Although, I’ve never had a heart attack before so I’m not quite sure about all the warning signs.  Which arm goes numb again?  Cuz right now it feels like both.”

“Okay, Ros, I need you to breathe for me,” he began, his tone surprisingly calm and even given that his initial apprehension had all been but confirmed.  “Take a deep breath in through your nose—all the way from your abdomen—and then slowly release it through your mouth.  Can you do that for me?”

Her anxiety was trying to tell her that, no, taking a deep, calming breath was quite improbable at the moment.  But this little part of her brain had latched onto the way Benvolio said ‘for me’—twice, actually—as if this action alone would have the glorious effect of calming him as well.  As if he cared.

Biting down the fear, Ros did as instructed.  She did it three times, in fact—Ben, all the while, perfectly silent as he patiently waited on the other end of the line for her to speak again.  Assisting the mollification of her frazzled nerves, Ros imagined Ben standing next her, instead of in the imposing skyscraper across the street.  So close yet so far, she needed something tangible, recalling the young man’s previous efforts to placate her…

_“I’m invested in this as much as you are,” he said, hands firm yet gentle on her shoulders as he halted the frantic pacing that became synonymous with the Capulet name._

_His hands travelled down to take hold of her trembling ones, the fear miraculously travelling with it.  “Remember that no matter what, I’ve got your back.”_

“I did a bad thing,” Ros eventually confessed, voice steady yet soft as she began to doubt whether Ben would still, in fact, have her back.  “I scheduled a meeting with Isabella.”

“What do you mean ‘bad’?  That’s great news!”

She ripped off the Band-Aid.  “It’s in four days.”

It was remarkable how she could pinpoint, without even seeing him, the precise moment Ben stopped breathing.  “Oh.”

And then everything came crashing out of her like a massive wave against jutting rocks.  “I don’t know what happened, Ben.  It was like an out of body experience.  Her assistant called and—well, to use a cliché—I suddenly found myself stuck between a rock and a hard place because I knew this was all happening too fast, but I wasn’t sure how long we’d have to wait for the next potential meeting.  So, I made an executive decision—that I’m not 100% sure I was even entitled to make—and I’m so sorry, Ben, because at this stage, it really comes down to your father.”

He sighed in a way that could’ve been construed as a laugh, but Rosaline knew that any amusement found in this situation would lean more towards disparaging than jovial.  “Let’s not fool ourselves, Ros.  We already knew it would always come down to him.  I guess I just thought I had a little more time.”

 _And now you don’t and it’s all my fault_ , Ros thought morosely.

Ten minutes ago, she was wondering why Ben broke her heart.  Three months ago, she would’ve felt vindicated in accomplishing the task of finally breaking his.  Now, sensing the melancholic shift in his voice, Ros was so vehemently plagued with guilt that she was willing to do everything within her power to make it right.

“Tell me what I need to do,” she started, eyes darting around wildly in search of potential solutions.  “Should I talk to Damiano myself?  Ensure him that this would be a merger of equals?  Should we, I don’t know, get married to prove the validity of our relationship?  Hell, at this point, I’m willing to announce that your grandfather was the one who invented the flying disc concept if that’ll put me in your father’s good graces!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ben chimed in, putting an end to her rambling.  This gave her pause.  Okay, the marriage suggestion might’ve been overkill and she really hoped he wouldn’t read too much into it.  “There’s no reason to throw the frisbee debacle into this mess.  Bringing up ancient grudges isn’t going to solve anything.”

Rosaline closed her eyes and breathed a small sigh of relief, her momentary lapse in judgment behind them.  “So…what do we do?”

Ben was contemplatively silent for several tedious seconds until, “We do what has been tasked to us.  Just get your father to that meeting on Monday and I’ll do the same with mine.”

“I’m afraid my task will be much easier than yours, which hardly seems fair considering I’m the reason you’re in this predicament.”

“Honestly, I would’ve probably made the same call if I was in your shoes.”  She could hear the edge of a smile in his voice now, which helped put her mind at ease—if only a little.  “Don’t fret, my beloved.  Everything’s going to work out just fine.”


	11. Brand Recognition

In a miraculous turn of events, Benvolio Montague had been given the gift of clairvoyance because, come Monday morning—just as he had assured Rosaline—everything worked out just fine.

Well, _fine_ in the sense that everyone had showed up to the meeting—located on the third floor of Isabella Cosimo’s investment firm, its headquarters just on the outskirts of Philly.  More than that, everyone also came out of it unscathed…relatively speaking.  It was not without incident, of course, but Rosaline supposed that was to be expected with Damiano and Silvestro’s relationship still so tenuous. 

Isabella was the true reason for the meeting’s success, spearheading the conversation and taking on the role of bullheaded intermediary whenever the two CEOs began verbally assaulting each other.  “You know, for two companies on the precipice of a multi-million-dollar endowment,” the woman said after one such argument, “the level of professionalism and tact on display is remarkably low.  In light of this revelation I should, perhaps, consider distributing my funds elsewhere…”

Like a pair of scolded children, Silvestro and Damiano immediately clammed up at her threat, heads slightly bowed in defeat.  The latter went one step further to rejoinder, “That won’t be necessary, Ms. Cosimo.  Please continue.”

Rosaline instinctively clutched Ben’s wrist, which was an easy task since he was seated beside her.  Glancing in his direction, his expression seemed to mirror her own.  It was common knowledge that Damiano Montague did not easily submit to anyone.  If he was so quick to do so now, perhaps he finally realized, belatedly, that he needed this deal just as much as his competitor did.  The subtle way Isabella had alluded to a ‘multi-million-dollar endowment’ certainly didn’t hurt her chances of getting the CEO to bend to her will.

Isabella Cosimo was, without a doubt, a force to be reckoned with.

After another 45 minutes of deliberating securities in line with the stated investment objectives, as well as the potential for diversification and liquidity of assets, the Montagues, the Capulets and Ms. Cosimo had finally come to a mutual understanding.

“Well, boys,” Isabella concluded, asserting her power over the aging CEOs yet again, “this has been a very productive use of my time.  Philadelphia’s economy will, I’m sure, benefit greatly from this venture, and we all know how much I love this city.”

“As do we all,” Silvestro added, eager to please the only person capable of keeping his company afloat.

Isabella closed the file that was on the table in front of her before holding it in the air for her assistant, Helena, to take.  “I’ll need annual and quarterly reports from both companies, so my investment committee can start working their magic.  Notify me as soon as a contract is drawn up to solidify this merger, and we will be in touch.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.” 

She rose from her chair, stoic and graceful like a queen rising from her throne, prompting everyone else to follow suit.  Silvestro and Damiano immediately started talking over each other, still not quite able to shake their competitive nature as they attempted to garner Isabella’s attention one last time before she left.

Unfortunately, she was having none of it.

“Rosaline Capulet,” Isabella then said, already on the move toward the doorway of the conference room, “walk me to my car.”

Too stunned to do anything except comply, Rosaline—after a quick glance at Benvolio, who gave her a reassuring nod—followed hot on the woman’s heels. 

Determined to show initiative, Ros spoke first.  “I cannot thank you enough for squeezing us into your busy schedule, Ms. Cosimo.  This merger means everything.”

“Yes,” Isabella drawled, her eyes expertly trained on her phone as they walked toward the elevator.  “I understand the inception of this plan came from you.”

“It was a collective effort,” was the best way for Rosaline to respond to that statement without giving too much away.  “It’s been a long journey to get to this moment, though I’m fully aware that it doesn’t end here.  We’re all willing and able to put a 110% into this venture.”

The screen of Isabella’s phone went black as she slid it into the pocket of her St. John Collection Milano Pique knit jacket (an article of clothing that probably cost more than Ros’ monthly rent).  She pushed the button to signal the elevator and waited, head turning to finally focus on her companion.  “I must admit, I initially thought your relationship with the young Montague was a publicity stunt in an attempt to get the two heads of household to see eye-to-eye.”  Ros swallowed the invisible lump in her throat.  “But that was probably because I secretly wanted you to get back together with my brother.  You were so good for him.”

Rosaline forced a smile.  “It is,” she started, searching for the words that might best appease the sister of the man she broke up with, “unfortunate that we could not make things work between us.  I know my mother shares your sentiment.”

“Yes, Giuliana Capulet does seem the most resistant toward your current union.”  When they got in the elevator, Ros observed that the woman’s features had somehow softened in the last few seconds, her mauve painted lips looking fuller and less severe as her eyes momentarily glazed over, deep in thought. 

“Don’t let your mother’s opposition deter you,” Isabella added as an afterthought.  “You know, you and I have a lot more in common than you might think.  We are both ambitious women trying to make it in a man’s world.  We have both been forced to live in the imposing shadow of our well-to-do parents.  The one thing that sets us apart, however, is something that, I must admit, I’m quite envious of.”

“Envious?  Of me?” Rosaline was almost certain she misheard the woman, scrunching up her forehead to convey her confusion.  “What do I have that you could possibly be envious of?”

Isabella replied as if the answer to that questions was the simplest thing in the world: “Love.”  After a brief silence in which Ros mulled over how convoluted that answer really was, the woman elaborated. “Many people think love is weakness, that we have a tendency to make irrational decisions in such a highly emotional state, but that is only true of emotions such as lust and obsession.  Real, genuine love—like the love I see between you and the young Montague—can be the greatest asset in business and in life.  It keeps you rooted.  It ensures that you stay true to yourself and those most important to you.  It becomes the beacon of light at the end of the tunnel, so to speak, even when that tunnel is fraught with darkness and despair.  You know you can push through any obstacle that comes your way because they are always at your side and they believe in you.”

A strange and bewildering sensation flooded Rosaline’s extremities.  Her fingers were buzzing—that was the only way to describe it, _buzzing_ —and she didn’t know how to make it stop, or how to prevent her mouth from rapidly opening and closing like a goddamn fish.  _Like the love she sees between me and Ben?_   This really shouldn’t come as a surprise to Rosaline considering the whole point was to make everyone believe that they were a real couple.  So, why was she internally freaking out all of a sudden?

 _Because you’re not_ that _good of an actress_ , a niggling voice in the back of her head chimed in. 

This was a really terrible time to revisit the blurred lines of her relationship with the perplexing ‘young Montague’.

“Wow, uh…you, uh,” Rus stuttered out unintelligibly.  Isabella was probably rethinking her ‘envious’ statement right about now.  She took a deep breath before making another attempt at speaking.  “You have a rare gift with words, Ms. Cosimo.”  She hoped this response would mollify the woman well enough.

“Well,” she said, tilting her head mischievously, “I may have majored in Economics, but very few know that I also minored in Comparative Literature.  It keeps me culturally attuned to the world around me.”  The elevator doors opened and the women walked in silence through the lobby, out the front door, and toward the smartly dressed chauffer who opened the back door of a Mercedes upon their arrival.  Isabella turned to face Rosaline one last time.  “A bit of advice?”

Ros nodded wordlessly, desperate for any wisdom the mogul was willing to impart.

“Do what scares you.  Don’t let the possibility of rejection or failure hold you back from discovering something that could be life-changing.”  She climbed into the back seat and, as the chauffer began to close the door, added, “Oh, and hold onto that young Montague of yours.  He’s a keeper.”

 

 

_Do what scares you._

Rosaline would periodically think on this advice in the weeks to come—during her final exams for Managerial Economics and Foundations of Teamwork & Leadership (which she aced with flying colors), during the courthouse wedding ceremony for Livia and Paris (which she forgot any and all trepidation toward the moment she saw how happy her sister was), and especially during the inevitable confrontation regarding said ceremony with their parents.

They knew this moment had to come eventually and though the newlyweds were prepared to accept full responsibility for their actions, Rosaline offered to be there in support when they shared the unexpected news of their elopement.  She did this because she would do anything for her sister, but also because she was eager to prove a point.  Benvolio had initially claimed that, upon hearing this news, Mrs. Capulet would likely view Rosaline as ‘the good daughter’—for a little while, at least.

Ros was inclined to disagree.  Predictable to a fault, Giuliana Capulet was liable to find some way to blame Ros for Liv’s decision to get married without anyone’s knowledge or consent.  Sweet, angelic Livia could do no wrong, after all.

So, they made a little wager.

Two days later, Paris, Livia, Ros, and Ben—who was hard-pressed to hide his grin—found themselves standing in the middle of The Capulets’ drawing room, breaking the news as gently as possible and awaiting their judgment. 

“A godforsaken elopement!” their mother fumed, after Livia provided both her and their father the marriage certificate that proved its legitimacy.  She glanced at the piece of paper briefly before throwing it on the glass coffee table beside her.  “Have you both completely lost your senses?!?!”

Though they had been together for nearly seven years, Paris was, like any normal person, still rather terrified of Giuliana Capulet, which was why Livia assured him that she would do most of the talking as she linked arms with her new husband and promised not to let go.  The hand that gripped his bicep was clearly sporting some new jewelry, the shiny gold band nestled on top of her engagement ring glinting in the light of the chandelier overhead.  There was no need to hide it now.  “Mother, this wasn’t a spur of the moment decision,” she said resolutely.  “Paris and I love each other and we simply felt that the best way to express that love was in a private ceremony away from the gawking eyes of the press and the rest of the city.”

As if on cue, Giuliana’s intense gaze zeroed in on her other daughter. “And exactly how long have you been sitting on this information, my dear, knowing full well how disastrous this would look for the company?”

Rosaline couldn’t even be offended by this accusation because, in that moment, all she could focus on was the fact that she had won.  The bet, that is.  She wasn’t humble about it either, flashing Ben a sideways smirk.  “But Liv doesn’t work for the company,” Ros eventually responded, dispassionate and well aware that a remark like that would only stoke the fire.  _Do what scares you, right?_   Not that her mother necessarily scared her, but it was a step in the right direction at least.

“Our family,” Giuliana countered, her voice rising an octave, “is the face of this company, Rosaline!  If you wish to keep your job within it, then you would be wise to inform us the next time either one of you decides to act like a reckless, self-indulgent child!”

And just like that Rosaline went from 0 to 60—from being not at all offended to completely offended.  First, the woman tries to threaten her job, which she really doesn’t have the authority to do, then she refers to both of her children as reckless and self-indulgent even though she was the one who periodically got embarrassingly drunk at dinner parties.

Taking a step forward, Ros readied herself with a retort—deciding to be tongue-in-cheek about it by stating that she doesn’t want to keep her job anyway since she has much loftier goals in mind within the company—when a hand reached out to stop her.  She looked back at the culprit, who still had the remnants of a smile on his face but was shaking his head ever-so-slightly.

It was amazing how quickly they had learned to read each other’s thoughts, how a subtle head movement from Ben had told her that now was not the time to have it out with her mother.  God, she hated when he was right, because the more she thought about it, the sooner she realized that getting into an argument with her mother wouldn’t solve anything.  Today was about Livia, not Rosaline.

Missing the silent exchange between Ben and Ros, Giuliana had calmed considerably in the time it took her to walk toward the nearest window, forlornly gazing out of it like the melodramatic aristocrat she liked to pretend she was.  “I suppose I should take some responsibility for this.”

The foursome exchanged dubious looks.  When had she ever taken responsibility for anything?

“Perhaps, when you were both younger,” the woman started, smoothing out an invisible crease in the curtains, “I did not stress enough the sacrifices that came with the family name.”  There we go.  That was more like the woman Rosaline knew and was obligated to love.  “You are both Capulet women, after all, and its high time you realize that with this name comes specific obligations.”

Livia squinted.  “I thought great opportunities come from specific obligations.  Isn’t that what you’ve always told us, father?”

Directing this question to the patriarch of the family was when they simultaneously realized that he was no longer there.  Well, he was, but after a quick scour of the drawing room, they discovered that he had somehow relocated himself to the opposite end and now sat sulking on the piano bench.

“Father?” Ros entreated.  “Are you alright?”

His answering sigh, akin to a tragic Shakespearean character, had her venturing that he was not.  “I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the piano, but I’ve simply been too busy with work to find the time.  I suppose that, in this profession, there are many things that I’ll never get the privilege of experiencing, but I never thought that walking my daughter down the aisle would be one of them.”

“Oh, father,” Liv replied, forgetting her promise to Paris as she bounded over to Damiano, affectionately wrapping her arms around his shoulders.  She always hated to see their father upset.  “I didn’t realize how much that meant to you.  Had I known, I would’ve done things differently.  Perhaps not the grand wedding that you both envisioned for me, but…differently.  How can I make this up to you?”

“Another wedding, perhaps?” their mother was quick to chime in.

“No,” Livia, Paris, and Rosaline simultaneously barked. 

Though Ben was close to bursting at this point, probably finding more enjoyment out of their familial exchange than anything else Philadelphia had to offer, he managed to keep a level head as he proposed a compromise.  “How about a reception?”

Ros furrowed her brow.  “What are you going on about?”

“A reception,” he repeated.  “They may already be husband and wife, but they haven’t had the opportunity to celebrate the occasion yet.  It could be a small affair, nothing flashy, just close friends and family.  It’s a win-win for everyone: your parents can take out an ad in the society pages to promote the intimate reception before paparazzi even have the chance to turn it into a scandal, the newlyweds can get a few wedding gifts out of it, and I get to see my beloved in a gorgeous dress.”

“Win-win for everyone, huh?” Ros rebuffed, arms artfully folded across her chest.  “What do I get out of it.”

Benvolio pretended to be wounded by her question.  “The pleasure of my company, of course.  You have yet to discover just how fantastic of a dancer I am.”

Ignoring the odd couple—seeing as their flirtatious bickering was now commonplace among this family set—the others were left to ruminate in silence.  Astonishingly, Livia was the first to acquiesce.  “Well…I did have my eye on this one espresso machine.”

Paris shrugged noncommittally.  “It’s true.  She’s been asking me to buy it for months.”

“And we could invite the Cosimo girl to fortify our new relationship,” Giuliana added thoughtfully.  Leave it to her to turn her daughter’s wedding reception into a business prospect.

Silvestro allowed himself a small smile as he patted Livia’s hand, which was still draped around his shoulder.  “It’s settled then.  We will host a reception—here, at the manor.  I promise not to go overboard with the guest list, but at least let me gush to a few colleagues how immensely proud I am of my youngest.”

Their mother let out a resigned sigh.  “We can schedule it for next Saturday.  It is, admittedly, short notice, but I’m sure anyone interested in personally congratulating the newlyweds should have no trouble canceling their previous engagements for us.”

Their father, however, was quick to contradict this line of thinking.  “No, no, my dear.  Next Saturday is Rosaline’s graduation.  That weekend must be all about her.  We’ll push the reception to the following Saturday.  That should hopefully make our guests more inclined to be available, don’t you think?”

Heart swelling with pride, Ros beamed at her father, who winked in response.  For all their faults, Rosaline had to admit that her family was still pretty great.  Yes, even her mother had her moments and, okay, Paris could be a little shy around present company, but he was a good man and he adored the crap out of her sister.

And then there was Ben.

In that moment, Rosaline realized that when she had reflected on her ‘pretty great’ family, she had meant to include Ben.  It was deliberate and compulsory…and as natural as breathing.  Without her even knowing it, the man had wormed his way into her life—and quite possibly her heart.  How could a Capulet be so foolish as to fall in love with a Montague?

The more important question, of course, was: did the Montague love her back?


	12. Marketing Audit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the only reason this took so abysmally long is because I scratched two versions of this chapter before deciding to split it into two parts and adding a few scenes to keep the story in line. I hope it's okay. Definitely check my notes at the bottom for why I did what I did in this chapter.

Graduation came and went.  Rosaline didn’t want to make a big spectacle of it, nerves fluttering about as it was, so she smiled and nodded her way through the ceremony as well as the subsequent family dinner.  Livia and Paris had thoughtfully gifted her with a glossy laminated plaque to hang her degree as soon as it arrived by mail.  Her parents—a 5-piece Samsonite luggage set which, Silvestro was quick to apprise, would be useful should the merger ignite the possibility of expansion sooner than later.  “After all, my dear, you are much more suited for travel than I am.” 

 _More suited for travel_ clearly meant _more responsibility_ , though the details regarding what her new position would be after the merger took place was still, vexingly, undisclosed to her.

Meanwhile, Benvolio didn’t hold back his mortification toward arriving so empty-handed, even though Ros had insisted several times that a gift wasn’t necessary.  “My beloved Rosaline, you obviously don’t know me at all if you truly believe I have not been wracking my brain for the perfect gift for such a momentous occasion.  It finally came to me, but a minor production delay has pushed the unveiling of your gift back to next weekend.  I only hope that you can stave off your anticipation until then.”

Fortunately, next weekend was Paris and Livia’s wedding reception, and in the hustle and bustle of all the necessary preparations, Ros promptly forgot all about Ben’s anticipatory gift.

Now, it is important to understand that Giuliana Capulet was never one to do anything by halves.  Therefore, it really shouldn’t have surprised anyone that she not only got all manner of important residents of Philadelphia to attend the event (with less than two weeks’ notice, nonetheless), but she also made it look swanky as fuck.

The reception was held in the backyard of the Capulets’ sprawling three-story home.  The hedgerows were well-manicured, the cast stone on the tiered fountains polished to perfection.  The gazebo Ros and Liv used to play in as children was now draped in coral gladiolus flowers and ivory organza, it’s interior well-lit for the bartenders tasked with serving all forms of top shelf liquor and fine wine.  On the right sat a small orchestra playing instrumental versions of popular ballads.  Beside them, couples danced on a makeshift black-and-white tiled floor, rows of twinkling lights strung together in a canopy above.

From the look of things, no one would’ve ever suspected that Capulet, Inc. was very recently on the verge of bankruptcy.

Being the gracious hosts of this extravagant shindig, it was the duty of every Capulet—and, by proxy, Paris and Ben—to mingle with their guests and involve themselves in rather unstimulating conversation.  To call it _unstimulating,_ in Rosaline’s opinion, was the understatement of the year.

\--“Why, yes, I was also surprised to see the NASDAQ drop 6 points yesterday.”--

\--“No, I’m afraid I didn’t catch who the Eagles drafted this season.”--

\--“Actually, I’m really not at liberty to discuss aspects of the merger since talks are still underway.”--

\--“Oh, that’s, um…very interesting advice.  I’ll take that to heart if Ben and I ever decide to, um, _have_ children.  Or, you know, get married for that matter.  Will you excuse me?”--

Ros kept a brisk pace as she made a beeline for the gazebo.  She ordered a glass of red wine without delay—one of the few saving graces to be found at such an event.

There was a pronounced groan at the entrance of the miniature pavilion as the not-so-blushing bride cumbersomely lifted the skirt of her dress to climb the two short steps.  Spotting her sister, Livia wasted no time in making her frustrations known.  “This get-up is ridiculous, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and—to add insult to injury—I’m not allowed to have wine.”

“Why can’t you have—” But Rosaline stopped herself, realization dawning as her eyes grew wide, hand instinctively flying to her mouth.  “Oh my god!  Liv, are you…”  She couldn’t even say it, instead pointedly shifting her gaze toward her sister’s stomach.

Livia connected the dots easily enough.  “Good god, no!  I mean, not to say I don’t want children—eventually—but looking after a bunch of middle schoolers will suffice until Paris and I are ready to have _that_ conversation.  Also, I thought I read somewhere that you can still have wine when you’re pregnant.”

“Then why did you say—”

“I meant red wine,” Liv quickly clarified.  “Mom says I can’t drink or eat anything that is considered ‘an enemy to chiffon,’”—donning a rather stellar interpretation of the Capulet matriarch—“which is precisely why I told her that I didn’t want to wear a fancy wedding gown, but did she listen?  No.” 

Rosaline wouldn’t deny that the dress their mother put her in was rather exquisite—a piece from Alberta Ferretti’s 2015 spring collection that featured a sweetheart neckline with drapings on the bodice and a tiered skirt that flared into an A-line cut.  The only problem was that it wasn’t very ‘Livia’.  “You should’ve showed up in that cream-colored summer dress you wore to city hall and just let her deal with it.  Bohemian chic suits you.”

“God, I love that dress!  It’s astounding how often I let that woman continue to manipulate me.”  She paused thoughtfully before a bubble of laughter escaped from her peach-glossed lips.  “I can’t believe you actually thought I was pregnant!”

“I’m sorry,” Ros bemoaned, embarrassed by her folly.  “I just…God, I don’t even know.  Judge Ryerson’s wife kept prodding me with questions about my future and then said that if Ben and I want our children to go to Little Angels Daycare that we should put in a bid for a spot now and…needless to say, that disconcerting thought was still chaotically doing laps in my brain when you arrived.”

The smile Livia flashed had Ros instantly regretting any and all conversations on the topic of procreation.  “Your future children, huh?  I mean, sure, Henrietta Ryerson is notoriously invasive, but can’t you just imagine a little toddler running around with your eyes and Ben’s cheekbones?”

“Don’t you start,” came Rosaline’s halfassed rebuttal, paired with an exacerbated eyeroll.  There were a multitude of reasons why such a notion was downright preposterous, but, in lieu of studiously listing them off, Ros tilted her wine glass skyward, the spicy, raspberry-rich pinot noir giving her senses something to momentarily focus on that did not involve Benvolio or babies…or both.

Livia, however, was keen on redirecting that focus.  “Do you remember the dinner you hosted to get our parents and Montague Sr. on board with your new ‘relationship’?”  She carefully disguised her air quotes in case any guests happened to be eavesdropping.

“You mean the night mother embarrassed us all with her drinking?”

“Well, yes,” Livia reluctantly agreed before pressing on, “but there was something else about that night that resonated with me—about Ben.”

It didn’t take a genius to decipher why her sister was inclined to bring up this particular moment.  Rosaline crossed to a more secluded part of the gazebo, leaning her weight against the wooden railing.  Liv soon followed.  “If you’re referring to Ben’s childhood story, I can assure you that it wasn’t real.  He already confessed as much.”

“But what about the dress?” her sister countered. 

“He took a shot in the dark that I happened to own a nondescript blue dress and—wonder of wonders—he guessed right.”

But Livia wasn’t going down without a fight.  “Fine, then what about his knowledge of the way you used to braid your hair?  Or the fact that he spotted you in Longwood Gardens—where you and father went for walks every Sunday morning?  Or how about the way Montague Sr. reacted to _his_ role in the story?  The look of mortification on his face—that was genuine.  I’m sorry, Ros.  I know you probably have it in your head that Ben made it up to get everyone to stop arguing but…well, every time I catch him looking at you when he thinks no one’s watching, I find myself remembering that story.” 

Ros really didn’t want to have this conversation right now—smack dab in the middle of a celebration of love and marriage.  There was still so much her sister didn’t know.  So much she didn’t understand.  “Liv, I—”

“And before I lose my nerve,” Livia interrupted, “now’s as good a time as any to tell you that I know something happened between you two in college.”  Rosaline’s mouth screwed shut as she found some distant point in the garden to focus on, prompting her sister to continue.  “I’m sure you have your reasons for not telling me about it, but seeing as I know you better than anyone, it was quite obvious something changed in you the year you both lived on campus at Colombia.  Your animosity toward Ben seemed…well, it didn’t seem akin to the usual familial vow to loathe the Montagues for all eternity.  It seemed…personal.”

“Hasn’t every feud between the two houses been personal?” she deadpanned.

“Perhaps.”  Livia leaned on her elbows, peering up at her older sister through long lashes coated in waterproof mascara.  “Perhaps we’ll never really understand how the frisbee debacle between Pop-Pop Capulet and Old Man Montague managed to destroy a lifetime of friendship.  Perhaps this business merger will make the answer to that age-old question inconsequential.  Perhaps you’ll never tell me what happened between you and Ben six years ago, but that’s okay.  More than anything, Ros, I just want you to be happy.”

As the sentiment swelled around her, Ros suddenly found herself sucked into a conversation that she was reluctant to join in the first place.  Because, deep down, she was still seeking answers.  It was easy for her to ignore her feelings then, but in the last few months things had escalated at a rather alarming rate.  “But what if I’m not entirely sure it _will_ make me happy?  What if I make a decision and it blows up in my face?”  _Just like before_ , she thought bitterly.

“That’s kind of what’s so miraculous about humanity,” her sister replied with a shrug.  “We get to make all these choices about our lives and, yeah, sometimes those choices don’t produce the desired end result, but you’ll never know unless you try.  At the very least, you guys deserve to just be open and honest with each other.  I think you might be surprised by what he has to say.”

There was a nagging ache nestled somewhere beneath Rosaline’s ribcage that told her Livia was right.  A part of her wanted to unburden herself—to her sister and to Ben—but there was still so much at stake.  This was a volatile time for everyone, what with a contract for the Capulet-Montague merger already in the works.  One wrong move could alter everything.  One emotional outburst.  One secret exposed.  One heart broken at the possibility that a boy might not love her back.  This was too important.  They couldn’t risk it.

She couldn’t risk it.

Ros was about to explain this much to Livia in no uncertain terms when their private conversation was suddenly interrupted by a person neither of them expected to encounter.

“Escalus?” Livia vocalized first as the man in question promptly hugged and congratulated the bride.  Rosaline was, naturally, too stunned to speak, watching him cheerfully converse with her sister as if no time had passed, as if no bad blood or hard feelings could’ve ever existed between them.

After the necessary pleasantries were exchanged, his eyes found hers.  “Rosaline Capulet.  Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

It was an odd way for him to greet her, not just because of what transpired when they last saw each other two months ago, but also because of the _way_ he said it—with a crooked smile and a relaxed swagger that wasn’t standard for the deputy commissioner.

“Hello, Escalus.”  She kept her eyes trained on him, searching for any other signs of irregularity.  “I knew my mother invited you but, to be honest, I wasn’t sure if you would come.”

“And miss one of Giuliana’s notably lavish parties?” he countered before waving his hand in the air dismissively.  “Not a chance.”

Like a lightbulb switching on overhead, his laissez-faire posture and amused grin suddenly made sense.

Escalus was drunk.

This revelation wreaked of disaster, especially since drunk people had the tendency to talk too much—and, in Escalus’ case, what he had to say and who he might accidentally say it to could cause a lot of problems for a lot of people.  She was silently thankful, at least, that Escalus’ sister, Isabella, had a prior engagement this weekend that kept her away.

Thinking quickly and doing her best to prevent a potential scene from occurring, Rosaline turned to her sister, a forced smile gracing her lips.  “Livia, would you do me a favor and locate your husband for me?  There is a matter of vital importance that needs his…expertise.”  Paris and Escalus had formed a fairly sturdy friendship during the years they were both dating the Capulet sisters, so if anyone was capable of calmly removing Rosaline’s ex-boyfriend from the premises, it would likely be him.

With a perceptive nod, Livia departed, and just as soon as they were alone, Escalus closed the distance between them, the reason for his presence now glaringly apparent.  “So, how’ve you been, Ros?  You still parading around that farce of relationship with that vile Montague?”

“You know, maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about that.  Why don’t we go inside the house and I’ll make you some coffee, okay?”  She attempted to escort him out of the gazebo, which he wrongfully interpreted as her consent to bring physical contact into the mix.

“God, you still smell the same,” Escalus whispered, his nose dangerously close to her neck as he wrapped a clumsy arm around her waist.  He practically hummed against her skin, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle with apprehension and humiliation.  “I missed you.”

This was bad.  This was ‘insert every expletive imaginable’ bad.  She leaned out of his grasp as her eyes began to scour the gardens in search of Paris or Livia or, hell, anyone that might come to her rescue.

“Nothing like a little drama to really get a party going, am I right?”

Recognizing the newcomer’s voice, Ros instinctively shoved Escalus away from her, as if making a very conclusive statement: _This isn’t what it looks like._

This, of course, begged the question of why it was so important for her to prove to Ben that she wanted nothing to do with her ex-boyfriend, but now was clearly not the time to dwell on such idle curiosities.

“This is an A and B conversation, Montague,” Escalus berated, pointing between himself and Rosaline as his glower remained fixed on Benvolio, “so C your way out of it.”

A mixture of amusement and confusion crossed Ben’s face as he furrowed his brow.  “I’m suddenly getting flashbacks to primary school.  Should I meet you by the flagpole after recess?”  He _would_ joke at a time like this.  One look at Ros, however, had him switching tactics.  “But, perhaps we should save that for another day.  For now, I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if you called it a night and I called you a cab.  What do you say?”

Touching Escalus’ shoulder in an effort to guide him in the right direction was apparently the wrong move.  He violently wrenched himself from Ben’s grasp, pupils dilated and cranking the volume up to eleven.  “I’m not going anywhere! I have as much of a right to be here as you do!  More so, in fact, considering what you have isn’t even real!”

 _Shit_.

This was precisely the type of scenario that had filled her waking nightmares.  By now, half of the guests were looking their way, thirsty for a good intrigue.  To make matters worse, her mother had even caught wind of it; bounding over, Rosaline was sure, to personally handle the commotion that was attempting to ruin her little soiree.  The patriarchs must’ve been elsewhere, but if her mother discovered the truth about their relationship, it would only be a matter of time before she told one or both of them, eager to prove that she was right in her refusal to see this match through.  If that happened, everything they worked so hard to build would come tumbling down.

They needed to fix this _now_.

“Ben?” Ros softly pleaded, hoping he had some idea— _any idea_ —on how to get them out of this mess.

Escalus invaded her space once more—“Ben?  Don’t talk to him.  He doesn’t care about you like I do.  I know I made mistakes, Rosaline, but nobody’s perfect…least of all, him.  Please, just give me another chance.”—but she continued to ignore him, her imploring gaze fixed, instead, on the man beside her.

Ben took a deep, calculating breath before asking, “Do you trust me?”

Without hesitation, Ros nodded.

In a blur of flailing limbs, Ben’s fist had suddenly collided with Escalus’ face, the latter falling with a loud thump against the wooden floor of the gazebo before he was out for the count.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I wasn't planning on making Escalus 'the bad guy', but I needed a conflict for a future pivotal chapter, someone to drive a wedge between Ros and Ben once they 'potentially' start to come together (and someone that isn't her mother because I have plans for her too). I hope it's okay and doesn't seem too out of place. I know, drunken outbursts are so cliche, but I really couldn't think of any other way to introduce the fact that he was still pining for Rosaline and making dumb decisions because of it. Anyway, I'm curious to know what you think. I kinda rushed to get this one out. I may edit it a bit later.


End file.
